


Downfall

by Tenukii



Series: Downfall [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Battle, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Emotional Manipulation, Head Injury, Headaches & Migraines, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Masks, Self-Sacrifice, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 86,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenukii/pseuds/Tenukii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the queen’s most trusted knight, Poe Dameron is at the center of the festivities celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of her marriage to the king—including a series of three masquerade balls, where Poe loses his heart to another man without ever seeing his face.  But the only thing more volatile than the monarchs’ marriage is the temper of their son, whose rivalry with Poe is close to consuming them both.  Later, an invading army threatens the neighboring Skywalker kingdom, and Poe leaves home to train the princess Rey to lead her father's knights into battle, despite a nagging injury that threatens Poe's safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I wonder how you sleep.  
_ _I wonder what you think of me.  
_ _If I could go back, would you have ever been with me?_

_Come on and lay it down.  
_ _I've always been with you.  
_ _Here and now, give all that’s within you.  
_ _Be my savior, and I'll be your downfall. . . ._  
-Matchbox 20, "Downfall"

\--

Of course Poe Dameron received an invitation to the masquerade balls—he was the favorite knight of the queen herself, after all.  Always one to follow the rules—the queen’s rules, anyway—he arrived on time, alone, and wearing the mask he was forbidden to remove that Sabbath Eve night, and the next, and the next: all guests were strictly required to keep their faces covered at each ball until the stroke of midnight at the last of the three masquerades.  That grand unveiling of faces would mark the end of the two-week celebration of the queen and king’s thirtieth marriage anniversary, a celebration which would include many festivities besides the masquerades.  Poe was looking forward to those other events more than the balls—particularly the jousting tournament, since he was almost sure to win it.  Still, he’d enjoyed choosing a mask and dressing in his finest clothing, and maybe, he mused, he’d have fun.

Poe was aware of a carnivalesque atmosphere surrounding the throne room as soon as he entered.  It was as he’d hoped: other than the stricture that one’s face must remain covered, the rules he so carefully followed seemed relaxed.  He was especially quick to notice two ladies, resplendent in elaborate dresses and masks with the beaks of birds, dancing with one another instead of with men.  Poe hoped that meant two men could get away with dancing together, as well.

At the entrance to the throne room, the queen’s retainer was checking invitations.  He was the only one to know whose face lay hidden underneath each mask; even the monarchs themselves would be unaware of the true identities of their guests.  As Poe waited in line to be admitted by the fussy retainer, he looked across the sea of attendees toward the thrones at the head of the vast room.  Queen Organa and King Solo were seated there, the petite queen looking beautifully refined as she watched her guests, and the king looking bored out of his mind as he slumped beside her, chin in hand and elbow propped on the arm of his throne.  Poe chuckled and pitied the poor man at the same time.  A celebration of the monarchs’ often tumultuous marriage was awkward enough without King Solo having to spend the evening confined to the throne room trying to be dignified.

Then Poe’s eyes fell on the third, smaller throne, which remained empty.  He wasn’t surprised, not really, but he wondered how the prince had managed to avoid the affair where his father hadn’t.  _Probably started throwing things until the queen gave in,_ Poe thought with a scowl as he looked away.

Finally, Poe’s turn came to have his invitation checked, and he handed the rolled parchment to the retainer.  The prim older man’s hazel eyes flicked over the calligraphic scrawl after he unrolled it; then his gaze lifted to Poe and studied his mask before the retainer made a notation on his carefully-guarded guest list.  The retainer had an excellent memory, but Poe supposed even he needed some help keeping track of who was wearing which mask, in case he should have to find a particular person later.

“What an impressive mask, Sir Dameron,” the retainer observed in his rather prissy voice.  He himself was unmasked—the only such person there, besides the king and queen—but his silver-streaked blond hair had been impeccably styled, and he wore a suit of golden fabric with a metallic sheen to it.  In fact, Poe felt like his own clothes were rather inadequate in comparison, even though they were the best he had.

He was proud of his mask, though, and the expense of it was what had kept him from buying new clothing.  It was burgundy and covered the upper half of his face, but gold-tipped crimson plumes had been placed along the top and sides to cover some of his dark, wavy hair as well.  Poe thought it made him look a bit like some kind of small and ornate bird, but without the awkward beak of the dancing ladies’ masks.  He’d considered the coloration of a peacock but was glad now he’d decided against it, since he’d seen two other peacock masks already.  His, he was fairly sure, was unique.

“I’m sure you’ll have your choice of ladies to dance with,” the retainer was saying as he rolled up Poe’s invitation and returned it to him.  “Although I daresay you’d have even more if they knew your identity.  You’re ever so popular with them.”

“You flatter me,” Poe muttered, even though he supposed it was probably true.  No one knew how utterly uninterested he was by said ladies, or that he hoped he could avoid dancing with _any_ of them.  Poe started to move aside for the next guest in line to be checked in, but then he ventured to ask, “Where is the prince tonight?”

“Hmph, you won’t have to worry about _him_ disrupting your evening,” the retainer sniffed.  Like practically everyone else in the court, he knew how much the two young men disliked each other.  “He refused to attend.  Queen Leia was absolutely _livid_ , although you wouldn’t know it to look at her now.  Honestly, I don’t know what they’re going to do with him.  If it were up to _me_ , I’d—I’d send him off to a war or something!”  The retainer waved Poe off then.  “Go on now, have a good evening.  You’re holding up the line.”

Poe rolled his eyes behind his mask, smiling nevertheless as he turned aside and made his way deeper into the throne room.  The court musicians played cheerfully as couples danced, all concealed behind masks of every description.  Poe still didn’t see any men dancing with one another, and he began to wonder if perhaps that was something that just didn’t happen, even on a night when all other social mores—differences in age, wealth, social standing—didn’t matter.

 _No one ever talks about it,_ Poe thought as he stood alone near one massive stone wall, _the idea of a man preferring other men to women._ He had hoped the evening would bring him the chance to be close to another man, _any_ other man, to see what it was like and know how it felt to hold a man in his arms tenderly instead of in combat.  To see if Poe really felt what he thought he felt.  It was one thing to lie awake at night, alone in his small chamber, and fantasize about being with a man; it was another thing entirely to _do_ it, even simply to dance in a man’s embrace.

In a way, Poe hoped he _wouldn’t_ like it, because then he might cease to dream about it.  But as things were, the desire was beginning to consume him, and even more troublesome, he was now unable to keep his fantasies focused on an anonymous, fictitious lover.  At first, that had been enough, but then Poe had caught himself imagining what it would be like to be with one man or another in particular, men he knew, even men he had fought alongside.  Poe had told himself those fantasies were harmless, and anyway, most of them were unsatisfying—until the night nearly a month ago when in a perverse act of mental revenge, he’d imagined taking the prince.

\--

Ben—Poe never thought of him as “Prince Solo” although he always addressed him as such—had flown into yet another rage that day.  Poe couldn’t even remember what had incited the prince’s wrath that time, only that he had been present in the throne room at the time and that the prince had turned on him too.  It wasn’t the first time Ben had insulted him; he clearly resented the favoritism his mother showed Poe, as well as Poe’s popularity with everyone else in the court.  Of course, Poe could not retaliate beyond making a veiled sardonic comment here and there, but his restraint was sorely tried _that_ day, when Ben accused Poe of using “his pretty face” to win the queen’s favor, with the implication that Poe was part of the reason for the rockiness of the monarchs’ marriage.  The queen—whose temper was almost as bad as her son’s, although she had better control of it—came very near to punching her own offspring in the face, and Poe simultaneously wanted to die of embarrassment, punch the prince himself, and inform Ben that _he_ had caused far more contention between his parents than Poe ever could.  As it was, the queen banished Ben to his chambers, apologized profusely to Poe, and told the rest of the court that heads would roll if anyone present dared to repeat what the prince had said.  (Poe didn’t _think_ she meant it literally, but he also had never seen her that angry before.)

There was nothing Poe could do to avenge his honor—the prince _was_ the prince, obnoxious or not.  But he spent the rest of the day thinking of all sorts of glorious insults and retaliatory gestures.  He played out a hundred different scenarios in his mind, all of which resulted in him besting Ben mentally or physically.  That night, as he lay in bed, Poe had attempted to forget the prince and instead indulge in a different sort of fantasy; he certainly needed the release of tension it would bring.  But no matter how he tried, Poe could only think of one man, and finally he gave in.  Surely the utter disgust he would feel at imagining intimacy with Ben would drive the prince from his thoughts—and anyhow, such a fantasy would be a form of retaliation in itself.

So he’d thought of a certain pair of dark eyes that always looked on him with scorn and disdain; black hair usually worn pulled back in a severe, unflattering ponytail; legs that seemed too long on a body slumped awkwardly on the small throne; a mouth that almost always scowled.  And Poe’s heart had beat a little faster.  He’d cursed himself and tried too late to change the course of his thoughts before he imagined how Ben might look under him, staring up at him with grudging desire.  How Ben’s lips would taste, the moans Poe might draw from them; how those long legs would feel wrapped around his waist as Poe drove into him.

Instead of disgust, Poe felt more intense lust than any other fantasy had ever raised in him.  Afterward, Poe had fallen asleep swearing that he would never indulge in such depraved thoughts again.  He even managed to keep that oath to himself until the next night.

\--

Now, Poe hoped to find some other man upon whom to focus his fantasies.  He still saw no men dancing together, but other female couples had joined the ladies in the bird masks.  Poe decided to follow their lead and take the initiative himself.  After all, no one would know who he was, so he had nothing to lose—except fantasies of the man he hated, the very memory of which was threatening to arouse him.

So Poe finally asked a man, chosen at random, to dance.  The man laughed and accepted, as did all but one of the others Poe approached.  Soon a few other men were dancing with one another as well, apparently taking Poe as an example, although the vast majority of the couples were still male and female.  Poe enjoyed himself but found none of his partners particularly inspiring.

The one man who did catch his attention was one Poe never managed to reach; every time Poe neared him, the man would begin dancing with someone else, always a lady.  Poe wasn’t even sure just what so captivated him, as he saw no more than glimpses of the other man.  He was tall and wore a stern, almost inhuman silver mask that covered the upper half of his face.  Poe thought he had dark hair but could not be sure, and he seemed to be wearing black.  Perhaps the very vagueness of Poe’s impressions was what attracted him so.  At any rate, Poe thought he might have new fodder for his fantasies if he could only see a little bit more.

But after only a few dances, the man disappeared entirely, and Poe gave up.  _At least there are two more masquerades,_ he thought as he edged away from the crowd.  _Perhaps I’ll find someone then—and at least now I know my feelings for certain._   For he was sure now that he _did_ like being close to other men, even if none of his dance partners had captured his heart.

Tired and warm from the exertion of dancing, Poe slipped out of the throne room onto one of the outside balconies bordering it and looking out over the kingdom.  He’d hoped to take off his mask for a moment and cool his face in the night breeze, but another person was already outside, standing at the balustrade with his back to Poe.  Poe was disappointed, but only for an instant before he realized it was the very man who had so intrigued him.

He was wearing a black cape that obscured most his body from Poe, but a mane of dark hair fell to his broad shoulders, and Poe could see the lower part of his pale jaw beneath the mask.  Poe hesitated, wondering what he should do: approach the man now that they were completely alone?  Retreat back inside?  Behave the way he would toward any other person he encountered by chance?

Poe decided on the latter option and went forward to stand at the balustrade too, a few feet from the stranger.

“Good evening,” Poe said in the most casual tone he could muster, giving the other man a polite glance and nod.  As he did so, he observed more: the harsh glare of the silvery mask, the delicate curve of the man’s lower lip on an otherwise stern mouth, the large gloved hands resting on the balustrade.  He did wear black, a suit of what looked to be fine but rather lightweight material which clung to the lanky yet muscular body draped by the cape.

And then Poe looked away, out into the night, and wished he had gone back inside after all, for he knew why the man so attracted him: he reminded Poe of Ben.

He _wasn’t_ Ben of course; the retainer had said Ben refused to attend the masquerade at all, and even if he _were_ there, he wouldn’t deign to mingle with the crowd and _dance_.  But the stranger was similar enough in height and build to make Poe’s heart thump in his chest and his groin tense with desire.  Poe wondered who he was—no one Poe had encountered before in the court, he felt sure.  However, guests had been invited from among the nobility of the farthest reaches of the kingdom, so the man could be anyone, from anywhere.

“Did you tire of dancing?”  The man’s deep voice sounded rather disdainful as he addressed Poe.  _He’s a **lot** like Ben,_ Poe thought, and scowled.

“Did _you_?” Poe retorted, hoping he sounded just as scornful.  “I’m surprised the ladies let you get away.  You had a different one on your arm every time I passed you.”

“And _you_ had a different man on _yours_.”

Poe felt his face grow even hotter under the mask.  He wasn’t sure what, if anything, the man was accusing him of, but he felt ashamed all the same.  Had he had too many dance partners, especially since they were men, especially when he was thinking of someone else all the while?  But it was only dancing—it didn’t mean anything, certainly not at a masquerade!  Then Poe realized what the man’s comment implied.

“You. . . noticed me?” Poe asked.  His voice sounded more tremulous than he’d meant it to.  Normally, he was able to handle himself with confidence in any situation, even in altercations with the prince.  Yet somehow, this stranger made him unsure of himself.

The man made a minute, almost imperceptible movement, as if he had tensed up slightly.  The masked face turned to Poe and seemed to study him, lips pressed together, although Poe couldn’t be sure; the deep shadows the mask cast hid the stranger’s eyes completely.  But then, those tightened lips smiled, and the man’s whole demeanor changed, relaxed.

“Yes,” he said.  “I’ve been watching you.  You’re very handsome.”  The way he spoke reaffirmed that he couldn’t be the prince: Poe had only ever heard Ben’s voice shout or level insults in a tight, harsh tone.  Though the stranger’s voice was equally deep, it was also smooth and what’s more, it was praising Poe rather than demeaning him.

“Oh. . . .”  Poe turned to face the man.  “I—how can you tell, with my mask on?”

The man hesitated again, but then he said, “I can still see your eyes.  They’re beautiful—the way you’re holding them half-closed right now, looking at me through those dark lashes of yours.”  His voice had sounded tentative at first, but as he spoke, it grew stronger, more confident.  Poe’s cheeks still burned, and he was unable to look away from the tall man—a man talking to him as if Poe were a woman he was wooing.

“I. . . no one’s ever said something like that to me before,” Poe stammered.

“Then no one has ever told you how perfect your mouth is?” the stranger murmured.  He took a step toward Poe, his mask still turned down toward the smaller man’s face.  “And the curls in your hair, and the shape of your face, and your lovely skin?”

“My skin. . . ?”  Poe had always been self-conscious about the tone of his skin, a few shades darker than that of anyone else in the court.  He started when the masked man brought a gloved hand up and cupped the side of his jaw.

“Yes.”  The deep voice had dropped to a murmur.  “So beautiful, especially under the light of the candles in there.  It makes me want to touch you. . . to _taste_ you.”

Poe drew in a breath as his heart seemed to flutter in his chest.  Was this how ladies felt when they were courted?  It was a strange nervousness, not the anticipation of battle or tournament, but a light-headed feeling that made him shaky.  None of Poe’s fantasies had made him feel quite like this; in them, he had always been the pursuer, the instigator of the imagined contact, as would be expected of him had he courted a woman.

Yet he liked it.  He _liked_ being wooed ( _or seduced_ , he thought), especially when he gazed up at the masked man’s pale mouth and thought about it against his skin.  Poe leaned his head into the hand still holding his jaw, testing to see what reaction he would get.  The stranger’s fingers curled inward, just under Poe’s ear, and his thumb brushed Poe’s cheek.

“Will you come back inside,” the man murmured, “and dance with me?”

Poe hadn’t quite expected that; he’d thought—and hoped—perhaps the man would kiss him.  But his heart was still racing as he nodded silently and followed when the stranger let him go and turned to walk back inside.  Poe watched the man’s confident stride and noted how different it was from the slouching way the prince moved when he stalked around.

Once they had returned to the throne room, the man paused at the edge of the crowd of dancers and turned back to offer his arm to Poe.  Poe took it, amazed to find his own hands trembling, and they began to dance.  The stranger was so tall, Poe’s head barely reached his shoulder, but the difference in their heights only attracted Poe even more.  As the man drew him nearer, Poe moved in until they were so close, he could feel the satiny fabric of the stranger’s cape brushing his cheek below his mask.  He drew in his breath in a muffled gasp when he felt one of the man’s arms encircle his shoulders and the other gloved hand drop to rest on Poe’s hip.  Poe lifted his head to look over the man’s shoulder, but no one had noticed them there in the shadows, away from the vast chandeliers and candelabras that lit the throne room.

When he was sure they were unobserved, Poe pressed up against the stranger and slid his own arms around the broad shoulders.  They swayed together, bodies rubbing against each other, and Poe decided he’d found a new subject for his fantasies.  The heat of the man’s neck warmed Poe’s face even through his mask, and after a moment’s hesitation, he touched his lips to the pale skin.  He felt the stranger’s throat shift as he swallowed; then the man tilted his chin up slightly, inviting Poe’s mouth to caress him.  Poe kissed his long neck slowly, tasting a hint of salt on his skin, and nuzzled the silky black hair that fell on his shoulder.  His partner’s hair smelled both sweet and spicy all at once, like a mix of pine and sandalwood, and Poe breathed deeply in between caresses.  The stranger’s fingers contracted over Poe’s hip, and he bent his head to murmur in Poe’s ear as they danced, if their slow movements could even be called dancing anymore.

“It’s almost midnight, and I want to kiss you before we part,” the man breathed, his deep voice husky.  “Will you let me?”  Poe shuddered with the desire the stranger’s words sent through him.

“Yes,” he hissed, “but not in here.  Come back outside.”

The man laughed softly even as he retreated back to the balcony with Poe.  “Why?” he asked when they were alone again.  “No one knows who we are.”

“Even so. . . .”  Poe trailed off, unsure himself.  Finally, he managed to explain, “I want to be alone with you, if I’m going to kiss you.”

The stranger nodded, drawing his tongue over his lips.  For the first time since his initial words, he sounded hesitant when he asked, “And you do want to?  You’re sure?”  For some reason, his hesitation touched Poe and made him crave the other man even more.

“Yes, I’m sure.”  He pulled the stranger back into his arms and leaned up on his toes, tilting his head to one side so he could kiss the other man without their masks interfering.  Despite his desire, Poe only brushed his lips against the other’s at first, and the stranger reciprocated with a gentle caress.

“Oh,” Poe breathed.  Despite all his fantasies, he had never kissed another man before, and he relished the experience.  The stranger’s lips were surprisingly soft against Poe’s, and when Poe felt them part, he pushed the tip of his tongue between them.  The taller man made a soft noise of approval and brought one hand to the back of Poe’s head, urging him on.  Their tongues met as the kiss grew more forceful, and soon Poe’s body was pressed up hard against the other man’s and both of the stranger’s hands were gripping Poe’s ass.  Poe moaned as his partner groped him, loving the way it felt finally to have another man desire him.

Poe slid his own hands down the man’s back to feel the shape of his lithe body under the cape he wore.  There was a strange tension in the muscles Poe felt, as if the stranger were poised to fight or to flee.  Yet he obviously liked what they were doing: if Poe hadn’t known from the movements of the man’s hands or his tongue, he could have guessed from the hardness he felt as the stranger thrust his hips against Poe’s own.

And then the clock struck midnight.  They broke apart, both breathless, and looked at each other—or at least, Poe looked at the stranger, and the silver mask with the hidden eyes turned down toward him.  Poe didn’t want to stop—he _wouldn’t_ have stopped if he didn’t know the servants would discover them when they came to clean up after the departing guests.

The stranger wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand before murmuring, “Will you tell me your name?”

“Will you tell me yours?” Poe countered, and as he suspected he might, the man shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Right.”  Poe sighed, frustrated at both their imminent parting and the stranger’s arrogance.  Who did he think he was, refusing to reveal his name—which wasn’t strictly against the rules considering they only specified that masks could not be removed—yet expecting Poe to tell his?

“I have to go,” the man muttered.

“Then go,” Poe snapped.  “I’m sure you’re very important—don’t let me keep you.”  The pale mouth, now somewhat flushed from Poe’s kisses, tightened as the man matched Poe’s scowl.  Poe didn’t want to bicker with him, despite his own irritation, and the flutter in his heart turned to an ache when the stranger spun away from him and stalked back toward the doors leading into the throne room.

Finally, Poe swallowed his pride and called, “Wait!”  When the man paused, Poe asked, “Will you be here at the next masquerade?”

“Yes.”  The deep voice sounded flat, but then the stranger turned back to Poe.  “Will you?”

“Yes.”  Poe bit his lip as they regarded one another before he admitted, “I want to see you again.”

“And I, you.”  The scowl dissolved, and the stranger suddenly lurched forward to cross the distance between them, grasp Poe’s chin, and crush their mouths together one last time.  “You’ll wear the same mask?” he whispered against Poe’s mouth.

“Yes.”  Poe clutched his shoulders and peered up at the silver mask, trying to catch one glimpse of the eyes it concealed.  He saw a little bit of a glimmer, but that was all.  “And you?”

The stranger nodded.  He brushed Poe’s cheek with his thumb then let him go.  This time, when he turned and swept away, Poe didn’t stop him.

Poe leaned on the balustrade until he had composed himself; then he went back inside.  His dance partner was nowhere to be seen among the departing guests.  The king had escaped as well, Poe noted as he made his way out of the throne room among the crowd.  Queen Organa was still seated upon her throne, but she was alone.

Poe tried not to think about anything at all as he went to his own quarters in another wing of the castle.  Now more than ever, he was grateful for the queen’s favoritism, which meant he had a chamber all to himself, small though it was.  Once inside, with the door securely latched, Poe slipped out of his attire and finally removed his mask.  He sat on his lumpy, straw-stuffed bed and looked down at the mask cradled in both of his tan hands.

 _He called my skin lovely,_ Poe thought as he gazed at his thumbs resting on the soft crimson feathers.  _And my eyes, my hair. . . ._   His mind drifted to the way the stranger’s hands had felt on his body, how his tongue had felt in Poe’s mouth.

 _I know nothing about him,_ Poe told himself, _and he knows nothing about me.  That mask could conceal anything, and even if he’s the most handsome man in the world, he could still be a terrible person_.  He carefully laid his own mask aside, on top of the chest that held his clothing, then got into bed between his rough sheets after snuffing the lantern.  _He might be violent or cruel._ Poe closed his eyes.  _He might be boring.  He might be stupid._

Poe opened his eyes again with a sigh.  He didn’t believe the stranger was any of those things.  Stubborn, arrogant, maybe quick-tempered. . . but not cruel.  Not unintelligent either, judging from the way he spoke.

Poe’s thoughts shifted again, from how the man spoke to how he moved, how he danced with his arms around Poe and his hands caressing the smaller man’s body.  Poe moved his own hands down his hips, letting his eyes drop closed again as his breath quickened.  He thought of how the stranger had kissed him, first courteously and then with such passion, and Poe imagined that mouth on his once more, and those gloved hands on his body.  All thoughts of the prince had finally vanished, and until he slept much later that night, Poe’s mind dwelt only on the man in the silver mask.

\--

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Poe fairly floated through the next week, even during the less exciting events of the royal celebration.  Through speeches, performances, and a terribly dull pantomime, Poe daydreamed, his mind drifting between what had happened at the last masquerade, and what _might_ happen at the next.  Even at a long and boring banquet, where Queen Organa was seated at the head of the table and Poe was seated to her left—meaning he spent the whole meal across the table from the prince, at his mother’s right—Poe retained his cheerful mood.  He hardly heard the prince’s muttered complaints about the food (Poe thought it was delicious, anyhow) or saw the glares Ben turned on him.  The one time their eyes did meet, Poe only smirked until Ben scowled and looked away.

_No one would want to dance with **you** , masked or not,_ Poe gloated mentally, _or say that **your** eyes are beautiful.  Or kiss you the way he kissed me. . . ._   As his thoughts wandered again, Poe didn’t realize he was still staring at the prince until Ben gave his shin a sound kick under the table.

“Nnngh!”  Poe gave a strangled yelp and glared at the prince, who was glowering back at him.

“Is something wrong, Sir Dameron?” the queen asked him.  Poe swallowed hard and managed to regulate his expression before he turned to her.

“Ah, no, your majesty,” he stammered.  “I just. . . er, bit my tongue.”

The queen arched a dark, delicate eyebrow.  “Perhaps you should pay more attention to your dinner—you _did_ look as if you were a thousand miles away.”  The prince snickered, and this time both Poe _and_ Queen Organa glared at him.  His only reaction was to raise his own brows, still amused.  Poe’s eyes were drawn to Ben’s by the gesture.

_They **are** beautiful. . . when he isn’t glaring with them._  For the first time since the masquerade, Poe felt the familiar, sickening flutter of reluctant desire, and he was glad when the queen kept speaking, distracting him.

“I know the occasion of our anniversary is not especially interesting to you young people,” she was telling Poe, although she included her son with another glance at him, “but I’m afraid love isn’t all excitement and romance.  Surviving it this long _does_ merit something of a celebration.”  She cast her lovely eyes down to the other end of the table, where King Solo sat.

“Of course, ma’am,” Poe assured her, but she just smirked at him.

“Oh, there’s no use in pretending you understand,” Queen Organa said.  “You won’t until you’re older, and you’ve spent years with whoever it is keeping your attention from your meal. _Then_ you’ll realize what a lot of work your happiness takes.”

Poe felt his face grow warm, and he shifted in his seat.  “I. . . I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

The queen laughed outright, although it was fond laughter and not the derisive snicker of the prince.  “Oh Poe, with the way you’ve been floating around like. . . like a little robin in springtime, you’re going to try to tell me you aren’t in love?”  The fact that she called him by his first name showed that she meant it fondly, but Poe cringed when the prince repeated it.

“Yes, _Poe_ , won’t you tell us who she is, little robin?” he sneered.

Poe couldn’t help himself.  He kicked the prince.

His legs were too short for him to do much damage, but Ben winced and gave him a look both stunned and affronted.  Poe thought the prince might complain to the queen about Poe’s act of retaliation—even if Ben _had_ deserved it, Poe supposed he had technically just committed treason—but Ben said nothing.  That kept Poe out of trouble but forced him to address the queen’s question.

“I am not in love,” Poe informed her.  “I do not believe in love at first sight, even as idealized as it is.” _And anyhow, I haven’t even seen him, not really,_ he thought.

“Then there _is_ somebody.”  The queen looked almost as smug as her son might upon winning an argument.  At the sight of Poe’s embarrassment, she relented with a smile.  “But never mind, enjoy your secret.  Just don’t injure yourself too badly in the process.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Poe and rubbed his shin.  The prince slumped back in his chair and scowled at him.

The next day, on the eve of the next masquerade, Prince Solo competed along with several of Poe’s comrades in a fencing tournament—the one form of physical combat in which he was trained, as Poe noted with some derision as he sat near the king and queen among the rest of the court shielded from the afternoon sun by a portable canopy.  Poe himself had abstained from this particular competition, being far better at jousting than swordplay, but he was interested in seeing just how good—or bad—the prince was at it.  Ben had other skills, or so Poe had heard, but Poe didn’t know just how much of those rumors he believed.  After all, magic _might_ really exist, but Poe had never seen any proof one way or the other, and he set far more store by his horse and lance than by whatever mental powers the prince might possess.

_After all, if he could really move things with his mind, he’d probably have destroyed the entire castle by now,_ Poe mused from his spot on the ground, where he sat cross-legged beside the king’s chair.  Normally, Poe would have been placed closer to the queen—King Solo never had much to say to him—but her brother was in that spot today, visiting from his neighboring kingdom to see his daughter compete in the tournament as well.

And his daughter was _good_.  Not a few of Poe’s comrades spoke derisively of Princess Rey Skywalker and her supposedly over-indulgent father—imagine teaching a _woman_ to use a sword!  Poe was delighted to see several of those who had scoffed now losing to the very woman they’d mocked.  The princess moved with a grace and self-assurance matched by almost none of the others; she had clearly inherited the natural talent for the art of swordsmanship possessed by her father, and his father before him.

But there _was_ one who might be her equal, Poe noticed with dismay as the princess advanced through the ranks.  Poe had always thought of Ben as being rather clumsy, stalking and slouching as he did.  However, now he moved with the very grace and self-assurance Poe had noticed in his cousin’s actions.  Just like the princess, Ben easily bested every competitor he faced.  The glare in his dark eyes was today a scowl of concentration, mirrored by that of Princess Skywalker, and Poe found his own gaze drawn to Ben again and again as he fought.  He showed no signs of fatigue as he wielded the heavy sword, and he never once looked over to where his parents—and Poe—watched.  He apparently did not care in the least about their approval, and his attention remained focused solely on his opponents.

Poe soon knew what outcome was inevitable: Prince Solo and Princess Skywalker would ultimately face each other, because no one else stood a chance of defeating either of them.  Poe unconsciously drew his folded legs up tighter to his body and clenched his hands in the grass when the time finally came and the two faced each other, glowering.  Everyone in the court knew they disliked once another, just as everyone knew of Ben’s rivalry with Poe.  _In fact,_ Poe thought, _everyone knows that **no one** likes Ben._   Poe suspected that he wasn’t the only one secretly hoping for the princess to emerge the victor of their skirmish.

Yet when they began to fight, Poe was captivated not by the princess, but by the prince.  He had never seen Ben move so quickly or so lightly before, even in the previous bouts.  Like the princess, he was sweating from exertion and exposure to the sun, and some strands of his dark hair, like hers, had come loose to hang around his face.  Still, he looked more _alive_ than he ever had before, and Poe could not turn his eyes away.

Poe’s stomach knotted as he stared, because now he _could_ imagine Ben, _this_ Ben, as the silver-masked man from the masquerade.  This Ben moved gracefully enough to dance, confidently enough to call Poe beautiful and then kiss him with such passion.

_No,_ Poe thought, _no, no, **no**.  It’s not him.  He’s not the stranger I met.  Ben would never—he **hates** me._   But then some masochistic part of him answered, _Except I was wearing a mask too—he wouldn’t know it was me.  If he ever finds out—but no, it **isn’t him**._

In the field before him, the prince scored a point over the princess.  She scowled and wiped her face on the sleeve of the plain linen shirt she wore, but there was only the barest twitch of a smile on Ben’s lips; then all signs of his victory were gone and he wiped his own sweaty face.  Poe stared at this, stared as the prince raked long fingers— _Are they the same length as **his**?  Was that the hand that touched my face?—_ through his damp hair and pushed it back from his eyes.  Then, for the first time, Ben turned his head to look over at the spectators, and his eyes locked on Poe’s.

Poe thought perhaps the flush on Ben’s heated face deepened, but he knew for sure that he blushed himself.  And yet he still couldn’t look away, and he saw Ben’s lips part— _Is that the mouth that kissed me?—_ before the prince set them again in a grimace and turned away.  Poe felt his face grow even hotter when he heard a faint chuckle from the king.  In horror, Poe looked up at the grey-haired man, who was smirking at him.

“She _is_ lovely, isn’t she?” the king said, and Poe felt the knot of tension within him relax, at least a little.

“Ah—you mean Princess Skywalker, sire?” he managed to stammer.

King Solo gave him a look of exasperated skepticism, a look he had long ago perfected, and sighed, “You don’t have to pretend you weren’t staring.”

“Er, yes, sire.”  Little did the king know at _whom_ Poe had been staring.

“If she were at all marriage-minded, you might even have a chance,” the king mused.  “This family never has been interested in marrying people of equal status.”  He said it wryly, and with good reason—the king himself had once been a highwayman, until he’d fallen in love with then-princess Organa.  “But Rey refuses to marry, and her father won’t insist on it.”

“I don’t believe a woman _should_ have to marry if she doesn’t want to,” murmured Poe, whose eyes had drifted back to the prince of their own accord.  For the first time in the tournament, Ben had faltered, and the princess had scored against him.  “Or that anyone should, for that matter.”

“Well.”  King Solo sounded bemused, as well he might if he thought Poe was interested in the princess.  “You’re of the same mind as Luke then—and Leia.  Ben should have married years ago.”  He added in a mutter, probably not intended for Poe’s ears, “If any woman would have him.”

Poe glanced aside, looking away from the fencing bout.  “The prince doesn’t want to marry either?”

“He says not, and just like her brother, Leia won’t insist on it.”  The king shrugged and sank back in his chair.  “And she says _I‘ve_ always been too permissive with him.”

Poe’s eyes turned back to the prince, dropping from his messy hair and flushed face to trace his long legs emerging from beneath his tunic, clad in close-fitting leggings.  Again the fantasy flashed through Poe’s mind, those legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping Ben’s taut thighs as—

The prince, drawing back to ready himself for another skirmish, looked at Poe again.

Poe drew in his breath, forced to bite back a gasp so the king wouldn’t hear.  He dropped his eyes first this time, and when he raised them again, Ben was lunging toward the princess.  But again, he faltered, and she scored against him once more.

Ben lost the bout to Princess Skywalker, and Poe fully expected him to fly into a rage.  Yet to Poe’s surprise, the prince restrained himself, although fire sparked in his dark eyes.  He saluted his cousin with his sabre; as soon as she reciprocated, Ben stalked away to face his parents and uncle—and, inadvertently, Poe.  He saluted them with the same bitterness he’d shown the princess, then turned away after casting a hard glare at Poe.

Poe didn’t understand the particular ferocity of that look until later that evening, after another tense banquet made even more awkward by the presence of King Skywalker and his daughter.  Poe had withdrawn and was on his way to his own small chamber, when he heard quick, firm footfalls in the empty corridor behind him.

“ _Dameron._ ”

Poe cringed at the bitter sound in the deep voice that hailed him—nothing at all like the way the silver-masked stranger had spoken to him.  He stopped and turned back to face the glowering prince, who had come to stand a few feet away.

“What?” Poe retorted.

Ben stood in front of him, large fists clenched at his sides and eyes glaring down at Poe as he growled, “Why do you keep _staring_ at me?”

Poe felt his face flare with heat even as he shot back, “I _don’t_.  Why would I want to look at _you_?”

As in the fencing tournament, the speed with which Ben moved stunned Poe.  Within a few seconds, the larger prince had Poe shoved up against the clammy stone wall of the corridor, hands pinning Poe’s shoulders.

“Don’t lie!” the prince snarled.  “At dinner—and then today—you made me lose to _her_!”

Heart thudding in his chest, Poe muttered, “ _I_ didn’t make you lose.  Don’t blame me because Princess Skywalker is a better swordsman than you are!”  Ben’s dark eyes again sparked with the same fire Poe had seen earlier; apparently, he hated being compared to his cousin, a fact that Poe stored away for later ammunition against him.

“You _wanted_ me to lose!”  Ben moved closer, until their bodies were almost touching and his forehead nearly rested on the wall over Poe’s head.  The shorter knight had to tilt his head back to keep meeting the prince’s furious eyes, but Poe wasn’t about to give Ben the satisfaction of looking away.  “I could feel your eyes on me,” Ben continued, his voice dropping to a low rasp, “waiting to see me embarrass myself. . . just like you humiliated me at the banquet.”

“You—you kicked me _first_!” Poe snapped.

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it, you little— _sycophant_!”

_He probably thinks I don’t know what that means, the show-off,_ sulked Poe, who, thanks to the queen’s interest in him, was better-educated than most other men of his station.  Still, he _didn’t_ know what Ben meant by “humiliate.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” Poe asked.  He had to fight to keep his voice free of tremors, not of fear but of arousal: he could feel the warmth of Ben’s body so close to his, even through their clothing, and he kept imagining how hot the prince’s flesh would feel bare, in bed, under him. . . .

“Reminding her _majesty_ that I should be wed by now,” Ben was answering him.  His eyes flicked upward, over Poe’s head, then back down to the smaller man’s face, “by pretending that you’re in _love_.  All well and good for a common soldier to be unmarried at your age with a hundred girls swooning over you, but me—whom the nobles’ daughters should be squabbling over—!”

Poe would have had a hard time following the disjointed rambling even if he weren’t currently distracted by his growing arousal.  He stared up at Ben, this time in confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Poe hissed.  “I wasn’t—wasn’t pretending to be in love, and certainly not to show _you_ up.  As difficult as you may find it to believe, I don’t waste my time thinking about you and plots to make you look bad!  And anyway—your father said you don’t _want_ to be married, so why—”

He broke off with a low cry when Ben’s left hand, previously gripping his shoulder, shot up to the side of his face, fingers clenching in the ends of Poe’s hair and the heel of Ben’s palm pressed against his chin.  Ben forced the back of Poe’s head against the wall and held him there, the prince’s teeth literally bared in a frozen snarl.  Poe heard his own breath coming in harsh, shallow pants—and felt himself come fully erect under the tunic he prayed to God would conceal it.

“You were speaking about me to my _father_?”  Ben’s deep voice rose in volume as his hand gripped Poe’s jaw.  “What are you trying to do, turn the whole court against me?”

“You don’t need _me_ to do that!  You did it yourself, years ago,” Poe spat.  He refused to show any sign of weakness, neither fear nor desire, although once more, he was pushing the boundaries of the behavior any member of the royal family should allow.  “The king spoke to _me_ , about the princess.”

“The—the princess?”  Ben’s narrowed eyes widened.

“He thought I was admiring her while you two were sparring.”  Poe unconsciously dropped the level of animosity in his voice to match Ben’s altered tone.  “And he said not to get my hopes up, because she does not wish to marry.  Then he said that neither do you.”

“You were admiring my cousin.”  Ben said it in a flattened tone, but then his brows contracted and he glared at Poe again.  “But you were staring at _me_.  You think I don’t know it when you look at me like that?  That I can’t feel those eyes on me?”

_Those eyes_. . . .  Poe stared back up at Ben with them, hearing again the stranger’s words: _They’re beautiful—the way you’re holding them half-closed right now, looking at me through those dark lashes of yours._

The prince shuddered and closed his own eyes tight as he growled, “ _Stop looking at me like that!_ ”

“Let me go, Ben.”  The words came out in a whisper, reluctant.  Poe didn’t _want_ Ben to let him go, but he didn’t want to feel this way, either.  The prince’s fingers tugged sharply on his hair and shoved his head back against the wall again.

“You’ll address me _properly_!”

No longer reluctantly, Poe snarled, “Let me go, _Prince Solo_.”  _You bloody bastard,_ he added in his head.  Ben’s arrogance made Poe seethe, but it also had the welcome effect of making Poe want nothing to do with him.

The prince did finally let him go then, releasing his hold on Poe’s head and shoulder and backing away several steps even before he opened his eyes.  When he did look at Poe again, Ben didn’t look angry anymore—in fact, he looked pained, almost sad.  Poe looked aside before he could begin to feel any pity for the prince and moved away from the wall.  He couldn’t repress the shudder that moved through his shoulders, but he stormed off without looking back until he had almost reached the smaller hallway that led to his own room.  When Poe did finally glance over his shoulder, the prince had disappeared, though Poe hadn’t heard him go.

“Damn you to hell,” Poe muttered under his breath as he walked the rest of the way to his chamber.  “Pompous, self-centered son of a bitch.”  He immediately felt guilty for the implied slight to the queen, but he couldn’t think of any other names that would simultaneously insult Ben without casting aspersion on his parentage.  _Someone needs to invent a new word, just for him_ , Poe thought while he barricaded himself in his room and began to prepare for bed.  _But then, that’s exactly what he would expect.  He’d say none of the existing curses were good enough for him._

The thought was mildly amusing, and Poe finally managed to relax by the time he was in his bed, shrouded by darkness.  Nevertheless, he was still somewhat aroused from the bitter encounter, and he cursed himself just as much as he had been cursing the prince.  Poe turned his thoughts once more to the masquerade and the masked stranger as he drew a hand across his own chest.

_He can’t be the prince,_ Poe realized, _because Ben is too selfish to be so considerate. . . so courteous to anyone, especially another man.  A man he was wooing. . . ._   Under Poe’s hand, a warmth seemed to spread from his heart outward as he remembered how the masked man had praised him, calling him handsome. . . beautiful.

Poe closed his eyes and slid his hand down his abdomen, intending to think of his charming stranger as he. . . dealt with the residual effects of his encounter with the prince.  But his traitorous mind returned to the feel of Ben’s hand along his jaw, in the same place the stranger’s gloved hand had lain.  Poe’s thoughts placed him back in the corridor, only now Ben’s body pressed against his, grinding on him, thrusting against him the way the stranger’s had done when they kissed.  If only Ben had done that!  If only Ben had bent his head while he held Poe captive and kissed him the way the masked man had done. . . .

_No,_ Poe told himself, _stop it.  I don’t want him—I want—oh damn **me** to hell instead, I want him, I want **him**._   He gave in entirely, and he managed to take some petty satisfaction in crying out Ben’s name when he came, instead of addressing the prince _properly_.

\--

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

“The same mask as before?” the queen’s retainer asked as he checked Poe’s invitation at the start of the second masquerade ball.

“Yes,” Poe muttered.  _Is there something wrong with that?_ he wondered.  Even if he hadn’t agreed with the stranger that they would wear the same masks, Poe couldn’t have afforded a new one.

The retainer handed back his invitation and leaned forward to confide, “The royal family is participating tonight, including King Luke and Princess Rey!  Just think, you might get to dance with the princess!”

“Imagine that,” said Poe with a hint of wryness as he tucked his invitation away; then he hurried off into the throne room.  He stood near the wall as before, but this time, he was looking specifically for his dance partner of the week before.  Poe had spent that day avoiding the prince as much as he could, but his mind refused to do the same.  Now, he was nearly desperate to see the masked stranger again, if only to chase away his thoughts of Ben.

_Someone that tall should stand out more,_ Poe sulked to himself as he scanned the crowd once again.  But perhaps the man hadn’t come back—or perhaps he was wearing a different mask after all.  _Perhaps he changed his mind,_ Poe thought with increased agitation, _and he doesn’t want to see me again—_

“Are you looking for someone?”

The suave, deep voice made Poe start, and his heart pulsed with both excitement and irritation at the smugness in the man’s tone.  Poe turned to see that the stranger—wearing that odd silver mask as promised—had come up behind him.  His pale lips were twisted up in a faint smirk, matching the arrogance of his tone, and Poe decided not to admit anything.

“The royal family is among the crowd tonight,” Poe told the stranger with a nod toward the empty thrones at the front of the room.  “I was hoping to guess which ones they are, but I haven’t had any luck.”

“I see.”  The man moved to stand beside Poe, towering over him as he looked out at the other dancers too.  “Are you hoping you’ll get to dance with the princess?”

Poe cut his eyes up at the impassive silver mask and retorted, “Have you seen me dance with a woman _yet_?”

The stranger’s smirk widened a little.  “The prince, then?”  Poe’s stomach knotted, and he dropped his eyes to glower at the marble floor.

“If I were to look for the prince, it would only be so I’d know whom to avoid,” Poe informed him.

“Is that so,” the man mused.  Then all at once, almost as if his voice too were a mask he’d shed—or exchanged for another—his tone changed, and he asked, “Then will you dance with me instead?”  He held out a hand, again sheathed in a black glove, to Poe.  Poe might have refused if not for the change in the man’s voice, but he sounded so hopeful when he asked the question, Poe acquiesced immediately.

He was glad he had given in once his mysterious partner’s arm was about his waist and their hands were clasped.  Poe leaned close to the stranger and breathed in his scent, again the smell of pine and sandalwood.  The man’s long black hair, worn straight and loose, hung down to his shoulders, but this night, he wore a silver chain around his white throat.  His clothes too were different, though similar in color and style to what he’d worn the week before, and Poe felt embarrassed that he’d had to wear the same thing again.  Yet the stranger didn’t seem to care what Poe was wearing as he held the smaller man to him.  He bent his masked face to murmur in Poe’s ear.

“If I can’t know your name, will you at least give me a false one?  I don’t know what to call you.”

“Will you give me one too?” Poe challenged.  He’d had the same problem and had grown tired of thinking of his partner as a “stranger.”

To Poe’s surprise, the man immediately answered, “Yes.  You can call me Kylo.”  _An odd name,_ Poe thought, _but then, he’s an odd man._

“And you can call me. . . um. . . Edgar,” Poe told him.

“Edgar,” the man—Kylo—repeated.  “Hardly a lovely enough name for you, but it will do.”  He lifted his hand from Poe’s waist to the back of his head and stroked his hair.

“You’re quite a flatterer,” Poe observed, although he couldn’t pretend he didn’t like the attention.

“Then why don’t you take a turn at it?” Kylo teased him as they danced.  “You haven’t ever said anything flattering to me—for all I know, you don’t like me at all.”

“I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?” Poe muttered to cover the awkwardness he felt.  In truth, he didn’t know _how_ to say something flattering, even though he had imagined it a hundred times in his daydreams, back before the prince had come to dominate his fantasies.  Now, all of the things Poe had come up with to say to another man seemed empty, none of them worthy of Kylo.

“You can’t think of anything nice to say to me, at all?” Kylo persisted.  When Poe lifted his eyes to the other man’s face, the pale lips were pressed tightly together in a slight frown.  The sight made Poe’s heart ache—not least because it reminded him of how the prince’s mouth had looked when Poe left him in the corridor the day before.

“Nothing good enough,” mumbled Poe.

Kylo’s lips parted as he drew in a breath; then he whispered back, “Could you try?  I want. . . to hear you say something nice to me.  Anything, just _something_ so I can remember how it sounded.”

The knot which had loosened inside Poe tightened again.  _I’ve never said anything nice to Ben either,_ he thought.   _The difference is that Ben wouldn’t want to hear it—if he knew I was the one saying it. . . ._   As disturbing as the thought was, it also freed Poe’s tongue.  Because Kylo reminded Poe so much of Ben—because Poe still wondered if he _was_ Ben—Poe had only to say what he’d thought about the prince just the night before.

“Your mouth,” he whispered, “the way it looks when you smile, _really_ smile. . . I can’t imagine wanting to kiss anyone else for the rest of my life.  How it feels when you kiss me, on my lips or my neck—I’ve never felt anything else so wonderful.  When you touch me, your hands feel so strong. . . .”  Lost in his own words, Poe spoke without thinking about what he might be revealing about himself.  “I’m sworn to protect others, but when you touch me, _I_ feel protected.  You—you make me feel safe.”

As Poe spoke, Kylo’s hand contracted on his lower back, and he bent his head to press the side of his face, the part exposed by his mask, against Poe’s hair.  Poe closed his eyes and kept murmuring.

“You called my skin lovely, but yours—it’s like porcelain, but so warm.  I want to touch you, all over, just to feel it.  And your hair is like. . . like black silk.  I love to feel it on my face and in my hands.  I want—I want to feel it brushing my skin as you kiss me, all over—”  Poe broke off, flushing, when he became aware of what he was saying.  Kylo was breathing hard, in short, shallow breaths, and when Poe fell silent, he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“Thank you, Edgar,” he murmured after a moment.  The false name sounded jarring in his deep voice.  “I—”  he stopped speaking as well, almost as if he were too overcome with emotion to continue, although Poe couldn’t imagine his awkward words could have had such an effect.  They kept dancing in silence for a few minutes; then Kylo finally spoke again.

“Will you come outside with me?  As much as I enjoy dancing with you, I want to do other things, too.”

“Oh really?”  Poe spoke facetiously, rather grateful for a chance to diffuse the emotional tension between them.

Kylo actually laughed, softly.  “Not just that.  I want to talk to you too—I want to learn more about you.”

“All right.”  Poe pulled out of Kylo’s hold, but only to take his arm and walk with him out to the balcony where they’d met the week before.  They found a bench in one secluded corner where they sat, and although a few other couples darted in and out of the palace throughout the evening, none noticed the two men seated half in the shadows.

Kylo put his long arms about Poe as soon as they sat down, and Poe fairly melted into him, leaning against the larger man’s broad chest.  When he tilted his head back to look up at Kylo’s masked face, Kylo began to kiss him, slowly this time, exploring Poe’s mouth thoroughly with his tongue.   Poe locked his arms around Kylo’s neck and kissed him back; he felt affection more than lust at that moment.  Could this really be the prince who held him so tenderly, almost carefully, as if he were afraid Poe might break?  One instant Poe doubted it; then the next he was convinced it _was_ Ben who was unwittingly making love to his worst enemy.

Whoever he was, when Kylo paused to pull off his gloves, Poe’s heart began to thud almost audibly in his chest.  For the first time, Poe felt his mysterious lover’s bare hands stroking his face and curling into his hair.  They were warm and soft, clearly the uncalloused hands of a nobleman (or a prince), not the hands of a knight like Poe.  Yet Kylo didn’t seem to care that Poe’s smaller hands were also rougher, for he took them in his at one point and brought them to his lips to kiss Poe’s palms open-mouthed.  Then he sucked two of Poe’s fingers into his mouth, and Poe had to struggle to bite back a moan.  When Kylo finally let Poe’s fingers slip from his mouth, he looked down at the dazed expression on Poe’s face and smiled.

“If only we could go to some private place,” he murmured, “I would put my mouth all over your beautiful body, just like you want.”

Poe did groan then, softly, at the thought of his fantasies coming true.  For an instant, he actually contemplated taking Kylo back to his own chamber, small and plain as it was, but then Poe regained his senses.  Not only was his space unworthy of a man of Kylo’s high station, no matter what exact station that might be, it would also reveal far too much about Poe.

_Whoever he is, he would know I am a knight of the queen,_ Poe realized, _and if he is Ben—he would know it’s me, and this would all end now._   That thought made Poe’s previously racing heart sink, because it reminded him that the next week, it _would_ all end: they would both have to reveal their faces at the finish of the third masquerade.  _Even if he isn’t Ben, he won’t want to be with me openly. . . in the real world.  And if he **is** , he’ll hate me even more than he does now.  Either way, I’ll lose him forever._  Poe had been too caught up in the mystery of it all to consider that before, to understand that it couldn’t last.

Poe pressed his face against Kylo’s shoulder and made himself swallow around the sudden, sharp pain in his throat.  Immediately, Kylo slipped his arms back around Poe and held him.

“What is it?” he asked, one hand traveling up and down the length of Poe’s spine.  “Did I say something to upset you?”

“No, I’m. . . I’m fine,” Poe managed to say; then he sat up and forced a smile.  “Only you’re torturing me by telling me what you’d do to me, since there’s nowhere for us to go.  Let’s talk about something else for a while, all right?”

Kylo smiled back and stroked Poe’s cheeks with his fingertips.  “All right.”

So they talked about anything and everything else.  Kylo was as intelligent as Poe had suspected, and if he was surprised that Poe had read some of the same texts he had, he hid it well.  Poe liked his food more heavily seasoned, but he also had more of a weakness for sugar; they both appreciated fine horses and were accomplished riders, although Poe suspected Kylo rode for pleasure and not out of necessity.  In between the more trivial topics they discussed, Poe came to realize that Kylo was everything he had hoped for, sensitive and even kind in his own way, underneath the veneer of erudite sardonicism that sometimes riled Poe.  But Poe even liked that, liked the challenge of it.  If Kylo didn’t irritate and frustrate him at times, the affection he showed Poe wouldn’t have been so surprising and appreciated.

They sat and talked, then rose and danced together again, remaining outside, to the strains of music they could barely hear coming from inside the throne room.  As midnight drew nearer, all too quickly, Kylo held Poe on the bench again, this time with Poe on his lap and the smaller man’s head resting on his shoulder.  Kylo nuzzled Poe’s forehead as he stroked the knight’s neck with his fingertips and whispered praises to him.

“My little robin,” Kylo murmured into Poe’s hair, in between pressing kisses to its dark waves.  Poe’s eyes, which had dropped closed, flew open, and he drew in his breath.

“Robin?” he asked, leaning back his head enough to look up at Kylo with wide eyes.

“Like the bird,” Kylo explained, a hesitant smile flickering over his mouth.  “I haven’t forgotten the name you gave me.”

“Oh, I know—but it’s a. . . a strange. . . .”  Poe trailed off and just stared at him, fighting back the apprehension, the _com_ prehension he felt.

“Your mask,” said Kylo.  “The red feathers against your brown hair. . . like a robin’s breast.  And you’re small.”  When Poe still stared, the pale mouth under the silver mask frowned.  “If I offended you, I’m sorry.  I won’t call you that again. . . .”

“No,” Poe whispered in a hoarse voice he barely recognized as his.  “Call me it.  I like it.  It’s only—it surprised me.  That’s all.”  He _did_ like it, because it took him back to the banquet earlier that week, when the queen compared him to the harbinger of spring due to Poe’s daydreaming about the very man who held him now.

_And then **he** called me “little robin,”_ Poe thought, _and he was mocking me. . . but he isn’t mocking me now, even though it’s the same words, in the same voice.  It’s him, it’s him, it’s **him**.  I’ve fallen in love with **him**._

Poe bent his head so Kylo wouldn’t see the tears that were filling his eyes.  He didn’t try to hold them back this time, trusting the mask to hide them and the red feathers to absorb them once they spilled onto his cheeks.  But one recalcitrant tear slid from the outer corner of his eye, down his cheek and out from under the mask to trace a glistening track down the side of his face.

One of Kylo’s fingertips traced the path the tear left then tilted Poe’s chin up.  Poe gave up on hiding that he was crying, and he looked at the dark opening of the silver mask which hid Kylo’s eyes from him while more tears dampened his face and dripped down onto the best clothes he owned.

“Edgar, what is it?” Kylo whispered.  “What have I done to make you weep?”

“Nothing. . . it’s nothing you’ve done,” Poe told him, and thought, _Or rather, everything you’ve done, without knowing it’s me you’re doing it to._   He tried to come up with some excuse for his tears and finally muttered, “It’s only that the night is almost over, and after next week, I’ll never see you again.”

“Oh. . . but that isn’t true.”  Kylo bent his head, seeming to look away from Poe, then pulled the smaller man against his chest again.  Poe _knew_ it wasn’t true: he’d probably have to go on seeing the prince every day for the rest of his life, or Ben’s, whichever ended first.  But that wasn’t the same, not at all.  Then Kylo said, “I know I’ll see you over and over, in my dreams—”

“Oh, don’t _say_ that,” Poe groaned in tearful exasperation.  “That only makes it worse!  Just be quiet and kiss me, all right?”  He leaned up, pressed his mouth to Kylo’s, and was relieved when the other man did what he asked.  They kissed harder and faster than before, with more urgency, as Kylo’s fingers gripped the curly hair at the nape of Poe’s neck and Poe clutched his back.  Poe scarcely heard the clock tower when midnight began to strike, and he might not have stopped kissing Kylo if the larger man hadn’t gently pulled back.

“Next week?” Kylo asked as they panted to catch their breath.  “Same masks?”  Poe nodded, not trusting his voice.

As Poe stood, Kylo slipped his gloves back on then reached both hands up behind his neck.  Poe didn’t understand what he was doing until the large hands came away with the ends of Kylo’s silver necklace pinched between their fingers.  Kylo rose and put the chain around Poe’s neck, and although Poe knew he should refuse the gift, he let the gloved hands fasten the clasp at his back.  Poe grasped Kylo’s hands when they drew back and brought them up to kiss the satin fabric over the long fingers.  He still couldn’t see Kylo’s eyes when he finally released his hands and looked up, but the other man’s pale mouth was pressed tightly closed, maybe to keep his lips from trembling.  Vindictively, Poe hoped so.  He didn’t want to be the only one hurting.

“Good night, my little robin,” Kylo whispered.

Poe found his voice long enough to whisper back, “Good night.”  He turned away and walked to the balustrade, where he stood looking out over the dark kingdom until he was certain he was alone, even though he never heard Kylo leaving.

\--

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

The day after the second masquerade, a troupe of traveling acrobats performed for the court outdoors, where the fencers had dueled a few days before.  Among them were two young girls whose routine involved complex acts of balancing upon stacks of barrels.  Poe thought he knew how they felt.

He himself was caught in a delicate act of balancing every time he had to be in the same place as Prince Solo.  Poe felt that actively avoiding Ben, as he had done the day before, was too conspicuous, yet so much as acknowledging the prince’s existence might bring further accusations of staring.  What’s more, looking at Ben _hurt_. . . and it thrilled Poe, all at the same time.  He ended up resorting to surreptitious glances at the prince when he was sure Ben’s attention was directed elsewhere.

Among the troupe was a female beast-tamer with a whip and flaming red hair, and Ben watched wide-eyed as she coaxed a tiger to leap through a hoop that she had set on fire.  The fire burned less brightly than her hair, and her beauty made Poe feel an unusual sting of jealousy until he realized Ben wasn’t staring at her but at the tiger; the prince cringed when the tip of the beast’s tail flicked through the flames with a puff of smoke.  Poe, seated at some distance from Ben, studied the prince’s profile, comparing it to Kylo’s in the silver mask.  The mask would cover Ben’s prominent nose and of course hide the dark eyes now fixed on the performers.  The prince’s hair was pulled back as he always wore it, but Poe could imagine it loose, falling to his shoulders.  And his mouth. . . that was the same.

Ben shifted on his throne, and Poe swiftly looked away lest the prince catch him watching.  He lifted a hand to rub his throat, where the collar of his shirt concealed the chain he still wore.  The beast-tamer was now commanding a hawk, who would fly at her order then return to perch on a thick leather glove she wore on her left arm.  Two other girls performed as well, one a dancer who scattered sweet-smelling flowers as she twirled and the other a talented gymnast.  Poe’s eyes stayed fixed on them, but he hardly saw them at all.

No strenuous activities occurred that day, to allow for rest after the previous late night.  The next day, however, at last brought Poe’s opportunity to participate in the anniversary festivities: the joust.  He was glad for something to do, and at the same time determined not to let Kylo/Ben distract him from performing at his best.  It helped that, once dressed in his armor, Poe’s helmet made it difficult for him to turn his head to see the audience watching him and the three other knights chosen to participate.  In fact, Poe decided, he wasn’t going to look toward the audience at _all_.

Still, despite his smaller stature, Poe was used to the weight of his armor and could even move fairly easily in it save for turning his head; his only discomfort came from the layer of heat the armor trapped inside.  Once mounted on his horse, Poe leaned forward to pat the animal on his proudly arched neck before guiding him into position.  The joust consisted of two pairs of knights facing off; then, as with the fencing bout, the victors would take on each other.  Poe was competing in the first pairing, which pleased him since it would give him a chance to rest before the final skirmish—since, he assured himself, he fully intended to win.  To do so, Poe had to knock his opponent off his horse while not falling himself.  Other combatants often misjudged Poe, assuming he would be easy to unseat simply because he was short.  Poe exulted in proving them wrong.

This time was no different, and he had little difficulty in defeating his first opponent.  His triumph was greeted with cheers from the onlookers; he was not a favorite only with the queen.  Poe still refused to look at them, for fear he would be unnerved at the sight of the prince.  He could imagine well enough, though, what Ben would look like: sullen, scowling, the only one not cheering Poe on.

_I’m surprised he hasn’t taken up jousting himself, just to have a chance of beating me at it,_ Poe thought as he waited on his horse for the next skirmish to conclude.  _But he only ever rides for pleasure. . . as he said at the masquerade._   Poe sighed heavily and lifted his helmet from his head to let his face cool before he had to compete again.  He balanced the helmet on the pommel of his saddle and pushed his sweaty hair back from his face with one gauntlet.  He shouldn’t have thought of the prince at all, because now Poe felt all the more compelled to look at him.

_It’s ridiculous,_ Poe told himself, _letting him consume me like this.  Perhaps the rumors are true, and he **does** know magic—because he’s certainly bespelled me._

Finally, when the two current combatants came together with a clang, Poe gave in and looked, certain Ben would be watching the skirmish.  He was not: those restive dark eyes were fixed on Poe instead.  Not glaring, even, they were watching him with a look of admiration Poe had never seen in them before.  Poe’s mouth went dry, and he tore his own eyes away before Ben’s face registered any recognition that their gazes had met.  He put his helmet back on with shaking hands, just as one of the two men jousting finally unseated the other from his horse.

When Poe took his place, ready to face the victor, he glanced once more at the prince, this time from behind the visor that hid his eyes.  Ben was watching him, but now, of course, he had reason to, and the prince’s pale mouth was set in its usual scowl.  Poe had feared distraction, but somehow, that scowl filled him with determination instead.

_I won’t let him make me lose,_ Poe thought, _the way he said **I** made **him** lose his bout._   Poe readied himself and his lance, and when he urged his horse forward, he felt as if they flew.  Poe’s lance connected with the opposing knight and unseated him on their first contact, with Poe half-standing in his stirrups and his thighs braced tight under his armor.  He hardly realized what had happened until it was over, and he needed a moment to understand just why the onlookers were roaring.  Poe didn’t dare look at the prince then, but he smiled under the cover of his helmet all the same.

\--

The celebration of Poe’s victory overshadowed that of the monarchs’ marriage that evening.  Even the princess congratulated him with admiration in her eyes, which Poe considered high praise indeed.

“I wish I could have participated in the joust,” Princess Skywalker commented at dinner, where she had been seated beside Poe, this time several chairs away from the queen.  He wondered if that seating arrangement was part of some scheme to throw them together, despite the princess’s alleged refusal to marry.  She continued, “I spend so much time practicing with my saber, I’ve never learned how to use a lance.”

“You’re a good rider, aren’t you?” Poe said to her.  “I saw you racing against Prince Solo the day you arrived.”

“Yes, and I beat him too,” the princess reminded him with a prim little smirk which she then turned toward her cousin seething across the table from them.

“Then I could teach you to joust,” offered Poe, without risking a look at Ben.  “You would need to practice, of course, but I could show you the rudiments of it.”

The princess’s smirk turned into a real smile as she replied, “All right.  I’d like that.  _If_ the kingdom’s champion jouster can spare the time to teach a mere _woman_ ,” she added so sarcastically, Poe couldn’t help but laugh.

“It would be my honor, your highness.”  Poe was halfway through a playful seated bow in her direction when he heard a disgusted groan from Ben.

“Ignore him,” Princess Skywalker ordered Poe.  “When shall we begin?”

“Are you free tomorrow morning?” Poe asked.  “I’m afraid the joust was my only chance to contribute to the festivities, so we could start right away—I know you’ll be returning home with your father after. . . after the last masquerade.”  He faltered as he spoke; for a moment, he’d forgotten all about the final ball and what it would bring.

“I’m _supposed_ to be meeting dignitaries from someplace or another tomorrow morning.  I think Father is still trying to get me to marry.”  The princess made an expressive face, wrinkling her nose.  “But I’ll sneak away.  You’ll be far better company, anyway.”

Poe had opened his mouth to agree to the chosen time when a loud _clang_ from across the table made them both start and turn to the prince.  Ben was glaring at them with the handle of his knife—which he had apparently just banged on the table—clutched in his fist.

“I won’t stand for this,” he snarled at his cousin, “you running off to be alone with—with _him_!  It’s completely inappropriate!”

Poe clenched his own fist around his cloth napkin and retorted to him, “Contrary to what you seem to believe, you _can_ trust me around the ladies in your family, your _highness_.”

“If you’re so concerned,” the princess added, “why don’t you accompany us, Ben?  You can be our chaperone, and you might even learn something from Poe.”

“I have no desire to take up jousting,” Ben growled, “and there’s certainly nothing _else_ I could learn from him.”

“Oh?  I would disagree—learning some _manners_ would be a good start,” Princess Skywalker shot back at him.  At one time, Poe would have smirked at that, but now he couldn’t even manage to feel smug about the princess taking his side; he was too hurt by Ben’s hatred for him.

“Please forgive me, Princess Skywalker,” Poe muttered as he looked down at his plate, “but I should withdraw my offer.  I neglected to consider that it might be inappropriate for us to be alone, and I don’t wish to inconvenience the prince.”

“I told you to ignore him!” she said with a laugh that quickly evaporated when she looked closely at Poe and—apparently more perceptive than her cousin—realized that he was truly upset.  “Poe. . . it’s no more inappropriate for us to be alone than it is for me to joust—and anyhow, I trust you to behave honorably.  I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, and neither should you.”

“It’s a bit more difficult not to care when one isn’t royalty, your highness,” Poe pointed out, as politely as he could manage.

“Well. . . I suppose you’re right,” the princess sighed.  “But I _do_ want to learn—so Ben, you’ll just have to come with us.”  When the prince began to protest again, she cut him off.  “If you refuse, I’ll tell your mother, and you know she’ll take my side.”

“If you tell the queen, she’ll know that you intend to sneak away from your meeting tomorrow,” Ben countered.

“What of it?” scoffed Princess Skywalker.  “She did exactly the same sort of thing when she was my age.  She’ll probably applaud me.”

“ _Fine,_ ” the prince finally grumbled.  “I’ll come, since it appears I don’t have a choice.  My mother has always favored both you and _him_ over me, so you’re right—she would take your side.”

“I’m glad you’ll listen to reason,” Princess Skywalker teased him, although Ben didn’t look amused.  The princess turned back to Poe instead and smiled more gently.  “And that, Poe, is how you have to deal with my cousin.  You can’t give in to him.”

“Mmn,” Poe mumbled, still looking at his plate, “you possess far more charm—and leverage—than I ever will, your highness.”  Princess Skywalker’s expressive mouth turned down slightly, and she touched his arm.

“Poe,” she murmured, “don’t worry about tomorrow, all right?  Everything will be fine.”  When she got a slight nod in response, she added, “And I don’t like those fussy titles, either.  Call me Rey.”

“Oh.”  Poe finally glanced up at her, blinking.  After being scolded by Ben for using the prince’s given name, he was surprised that the princess would say such a thing.  “All—all right, your. . . Rey. . . ness,” he laughed as he almost said “your highness” automatically.  “It will be a difficult habit to break, but I’ll try.”  Rey laughed too, but Ben was still scowling at them both.

“This is ridiculous,” Ben muttered, and Poe wished he had Rey’s ability to ignore him.

\--

The next morning, Poe met Rey in a fallow field just past the edge of the castle grounds, where they would have room to practice their jousting.  Like Poe, the princess was on horseback.  She sat astride her borrowed horse, not side-saddle, and she wore breeches to facilitate her riding.  Poe was impressed with her independent spirit and even more flattered than before that she thought he was worth learning from.

“Ben is late,” Rey sighed when Poe rode up to her, balancing across his saddle two wooden poles they could use as practice lances.  “I’m not surprised.”

“I am,” muttered Poe.  “After the way he talked last night, I would have thought he’d arrive _early_ to keep us from being alone.  I don’t think he trusts me not to ride off into the forest with you if given half a chance.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  He doesn’t think anything of the sort—he was only looking for something to be contrary about.”  The princess studied Poe’s sullen expression then said, “But he really did offend you, didn’t he?”

Poe hesitated before deciding to confide in her, “It’s not the first time he’s said something like that.  A month ago he accused me of having designs on the _queen_.”  He blushed with shame at the very idea even as he said it, but the memory incensed him as well.  “I’ve never behaved inappropriately toward any lady, _ever_ , so I don’t know why he keeps insulting me that way!” Poe ranted.  “I don’t so much as _dance_ with women, much less—”  He broke off when he realized this _was_ a woman he was talking to.  “Er, I’m sorry, I’m sure you understand my meaning without me being crude about it.”

But Rey didn’t pay any notice to his apology.  Instead, she was studying him with a curious little smile.

“You don’t dance with women?  You have no interest in them, then?

“I. . . .”  Poe felt his blush grow hotter and deeper.  “I only meant. . . er, no.  My duties keep me occupied, so I have no time for. . . courting ladies.”

“I see.”  Her dark eyes, which Poe noticed were rather like her cousin’s, sparkled.  “What about for courting gentlemen?”  She laughed outright at the horrified look Poe gave her.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t tease you.  But you’re all my handmaidens have talked about since we arrived here—they go on and on marveling at how handsome you are, and guessing which ladies you’re courting.  Yet no matter how closely I watched you, I never saw you give notice to any woman at all, even those lovely girls in the performing troupe.  So I had already guessed that you prefer men.”

Realizing there was no misleading her, Poe groaned, “Don’t tell anyone, Rey, _please_.”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” Rey sighed, “although the queen has already guessed as well.”

“Queen Organa?”  Poe stared at Rey, wondering how much worse his day could get.  “But how. . . .”

“She spends more time around you than anyone else does, doesn’t she?” Rey pointed out.  “And she loves you dearly.  She wants you to be happy.  She told me that she thought you’d finally found someone—but now she’s worried about you, because you suddenly seem so unhappy.”

“The queen sent you to spy on me?  Is that why you’re suddenly interested in jousting?” Poe grumbled.

“No!”  Rey laughed again, harder, before she went on with a sort of calm earnestness.  “Poe, please, don’t be so suspicious.  She didn’t send me to do anything, she was only expressing concern for you.  And I’m concerned for you too, because I like you.”

“I’ll be all right,” muttered Poe, gazing down at the wooden lances resting across his horse’s back.

Rey started to say something else, but then she murmured, “Here comes Ben.”  Poe steeled himself then looked up to see the prince approaching them on the black horse he preferred when riding.  He gave Poe a curt nod, and even that made Poe’s pulse quicken.  _At least he isn’t insulting me yet,_ Poe thought.

“You’re late,” Rey observed to her cousin.

“My apologies,” he said with virulent sarcasm.  “Unlike you, I attended to my duties before I left.”

The princess ignored his comment and said, “Now we can get started.  Ben, are you going to try it too, or are you just going to watch Poe?”  Poe felt his cheeks flare with heat, and Ben glared at her.

“I told you, I have no interest in jousting,” he snapped.  “Just get on with it.”

Poe distracted himself from the prince—who did, in fact, watch them, with his dark brows furrowed—by throwing himself into the task of instructing the princess.  As he might have expected, she proved to be a quick learner: he only had to show her once how to hold the wooden pole he gave her to practice with, and she was soon galloping her horse back and forth as she got used to balancing the pole while she rode.

Poe had edged his horse near to where Ben sat astride his.  He thought the shadows cast on the prince’s face by the ascending sun’s slanting light made him look unusually handsome.  Ben sat with his back perfectly straight, yet his posture seemed natural and comfortable, almost as if he were a part of the horse he rode.  His hair, still pulled back, looked as black as his horse’s hide in contrast to his pale skin.

Watching his profile, Poe thought miserably, _I love you.  I don’t know why, but I love you. . . ._

Then Ben turned his head to look at Poe, and the knight drew in his breath.

“She’s doing very well,” Poe said, anything to make conversation and take his thoughts away from his emotions.  He expected Ben to react negatively, and he was amazed when the prince nodded, his expression neutral.

“You’re a good teacher.”

Poe dropped his eyes; he _had_ to in order to keep from staring.  _He said something nice to me. . . ._

“Thank you,” he mumbled.  “Are you sure you don’t want to learn, too?  I wouldn’t mind showing you.”

“You don’t give up, do you?”  Ben’s voice sounded amused, but not in a mocking way, for once.  “All right, show me how to hold it, at least.  Then I can at least say I learned something.”  Poe looked up at him in amazement.

“I. . . all right.  Here.”  He coaxed his horse closer to Ben, then held out the second wooden pole to him.  Ben took it in both hands and looked at it with an uncomfortable expression that made Poe smile.  It was nice to see the prince look uncomfortable, for once.

“Put your right hand here—that’s where the weight of the lance will be balanced,” Poe told him, pointing at the correct spot.  After Ben obeyed, Poe took his elbow and moved it to the outside, with the pole between Ben’s arm and his body.  “Keep it like that.  Now you can let go with the other hand.”  Ben did so, reluctantly.

“I’m afraid I’ll drop it,” he muttered, and Poe laughed before he could stop himself.

“You won’t drop it,” he reassured Ben.  “It will feel natural before you know it.”  He looked over Ben’s stance, then put his hand over the prince’s to shift it slightly.  “But turn your hand under more, like this.”

Ben’s hand felt warm in Poe’s, his skin as smooth as Poe remembered from the last masquerade.  Poe looked down at the long, white fingers under his darker hand and wished he never had to let go.

“Like this?” Ben repeated as he flexed his fingers around the wood.  Poe lifted his eyes to the prince’s, which were fixed on Poe’s face instead of his hand.  “Am I doing it right, Poe?”

Poe managed to nod.  _I think that’s the first time he’s called me by my first name,_ he realized.

“You should learn all of it along with—Princess Skywalker,” he finally said, still meeting Ben’s gaze and barely remembering not to call the princess “Rey,” since he knew Ben would disapprove.  “You’re an excellent rider, so I know you’d be good at jousting too.”

“You. . . just praised me, didn’t you?” Ben whispered.  It took Poe a few seconds to process the complete change both in subject and in the prince’s tone of voice.

“Well—well, it’s true,” Poe stammered.  “I think if you and I raced, you’d be faster.”

The prince started to say something in reply, but then he glanced from Poe out toward where Rey had been riding.  To Poe’s consternation, Ben’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened.  With a sinking feeling in his chest, Poe followed his gaze to see Rey sitting still on her horse a short distance away and watching them with a little smile.

“Let go,” Ben hissed to Poe as he shook the smaller man’s hand off.  Poe drew back, and the prince walked his horse forward without looking back at Poe again.

“You’ve decided to learn how to joust after all?” Rey called to her cousin, and Poe silently cursed her although he knew she meant well.

“I was tired of you two pestering me about it,” Ben growled.  “Are you through prancing around yet, so you can get on with your lesson?  I don’t want to spend all day out here.”

So Poe returned to his instructing, and Ben refused to meet his eyes again.  Poe taught Rey how to run at an opponent with her lance, then suggested she try rushing him for practice.

“Why don’t I practice on Ben instead?” Rey countered.  “He’s the one holding the other lance, after all.”

“If he agrees to it,” Poe shrugged.  “Just don’t actually hit him—I didn’t think to bring any shields for us to use.”  He felt a little nervous about letting Rey run at her cousin, even with a simple wooden pole, but he decided Ben deserved to be put to work.

“Well?” the princess asked Ben, who was some yards away still holding the pole how Poe had shown him.  “Are you brave enough?”

“If it means you’ll be finished sooner, fine.”  Ben finally looked at Poe again, but only to ask in a near snarl, “What do I do?”

“Just sit there and hold the lance, and _don’t move_ ,” Poe told Ben, then moved his own horse some distance away before calling to Rey, “You go down to the opposite end of the field, then gallop towards him.  I want you to get as close as you can, but be _careful_.  Don’t get so near that you make contact—if either of you got hurt, it would be my head!”  When Rey reached the edge of the field, she looked back at Poe, and he nodded and called, “All right, go!”

Rey set off at a gallop with her lance aimed at her cousin as she approached him.  Poe tensed when he saw how close she would come to Ben, but he trusted the princess to control her horse and the makeshift lance she held.  She did, but Ben was the one Poe shouldn’t have trusted—in the last few seconds before Rey reached him, he urged his horse into a canter and rushed at his cousin with a determined glare on his face.

“ _Ben!_ ” Poe shrieked in frustrated consternation.  “What the hell are you—”  He didn’t even get the words out before Ben passed Rey and flicked his wooden lance out in an attempt to knock hers from her hand.  Poe saw Rey grimace and jerk her own lance to the side, towards Ben, and his was the one that fell to the ground.  Ben yelped and grabbed his right hand in his left as he slowed his horse and Rey jerked hers to a halt just past him.

“You _fool_ , what were you doing?” she shouted, wheeling her horse around to face him.  Poe was already cantering his own horse over to the cousins.

“When you said you were going to drop it, I didn’t think you were going to do _that_!” Poe added with a scowl.  “You—you could have hurt yourself!  You could have hurt _Rey_!”  He drew a shaky breath in exasperation as Ben finally turned his horse back towards the others.

“I wasn’t going to hurt anybody,” Ben snarled at them both.  “I knew what I was doing!”

“No, you _didn’t_!” groaned Poe.  “The point isn’t to make your opponent drop the lance—and even if it were, _you_ weren’t supposed to move.  I told you not to!”

Rey had screwed up her face in an expression of mixed bewilderment and disgust at her cousin.  “You said you didn’t even _want_ to joust, so why were you trying to outdo me?  If you’re trying to show off for Poe, risking both our lives isn’t the best way to do it!”

Poe gaped at her, but then Ben caught his attention by throwing his wooden lance to the ground in utter fury.  His horse shied to the other side, startled by the sudden action.

“ _I’m_ trying to outdo _you_?” he growled.  “What would be the point?  You’re clearly better than me at _everything_ —you and him both.”  He indicated Poe with a rough hand gesture in his direction.

Rey began, “Well then, let Poe show you how to get better at—” but her cousin cut her off with a shout.

“No!  I don’t need his help.”  Ben finally looked at Poe but only to yell at him, “I don’t _need_ you, not for anything!”

It might not have hurt so much if Poe hadn’t felt so close to Ben less than an hour before.  _He said something kind to me, and I to him. . . and now he says **that** ,_ Poe thought.  _But it’s the truth, and I was the foolish one if I ever thought I could mean anything to him. . . ._

The prince hauled on his reins and turned his horse away, then drove his heels into its sides and set off at a gallop for the forest at the edge of the field.

“Ben!” Rey shouted after him.  “You can’t just run away—!”  She gave up when Ben didn’t stop, and instead she turned to Poe.

“Well, go on!” she urged.  “Go after him.”

“Me?” Poe stammered.  “ _You_ go after him!  You heard him—he doesn’t want _me_ to—”

“You two fools are every bit as blind as the queen told me you are!” the princess groaned.  “Poe—he’s in _love_ with you.  Go after him!”  When Poe only stared at her, she threw both hands in the air and made a shoving gesture at him.  “ _Go!_ ”

Bewildered as he was, Poe gave up on trying to argue with her or find out just what she meant.  Part of him didn’t _want_ to go after Ben, especially after what the prince had just said—but another part _did_ , and not just for himself.  As consumed with rage as Ben could get, he shouldn’t be riding off into the woods recklessly, alone.

Vowing to corner Rey later and demand an explanation, Poe turned his horse and rode off after the prince.  He crossed the field quickly then plunged into the forest along a well-used path, calling for Ben.

“Ben!”  Then, thinking that Ben might be more compliant if “addressed properly,” Poe shouted, “Prince Solo!” instead.  He could tell Ben had followed the path due to the disturbed debris on the forest floor, and although Ben didn’t answer his call, Poe was soon able to glimpse him just a few yards ahead, only partially obscured by a few of the low-hanging branches they both had to push aside as they passed.

“Prince Solo, please, come back!” Poe called.

“ _Leave me alone!_ ” was the only response he got.

“Fine, I will!  Just come back—”

“Go _away!_ ” Ben yelled over his shoulder as he spurred his horse back into a trot, holding out an arm to shove the branches out of his way.  Poe groaned and dug his heels into his own horse to hurry after the prince.  Despite his concern for Ben’s recklessness, Poe was so frustrated, _he_ was the one not paying attention, and when a thick branch snapped back into place behind Ben, Poe rode straight into it.

The branch hit Poe right in the face, making him yelp in pain and cringe away from it; that movement in combination with the branch’s momentum and his horse’s jolting gait sent Poe tumbling off the animal’s back.  _First time I’ve fallen off a horse in years,_ he had time to think on the way down, but all further thought was obliterated when he hit the ground on his back with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs.  The back of Poe’s skull connected with something hard—a rock, maybe, or a protruding tree root—and he saw spangles of light before a nauseating wave of pain blossomed through his head.  His vision went dark, and he might have heard Ben calling his name, or he might just have imagined it, before his consciousness fled and, mercifully, took the pain with it.

\--

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

When Poe came back to consciousness, he was aware only of a scent at first, a mixture of sandalwood and pine.  Then a stabbing pain radiated from a point on the back of his head, and he groaned.

“Poe—you’re awake!”

Poe hadn’t realized he was moving until the movement ceased.  Through the haze of pain, he became aware that he was straddling a horse that had just been reined in.  Poe leaned back against another person seated behind him, a man whose left arm was held about his waist to steady him.  The man’s voice was so familiar, his voice and his scent. . . .

_Kylo,_ Poe thought despite the aching dizziness in his head.  _He’s holding me. . . no, not Kylo—Ben. . . ._   He groaned again, from the realization as much as from the pain.

“Poe!”

He felt Ben’s right hand cupping the left side of his face; his right cheek was resting on Ben’s shoulder.  Ben’s head was turned down toward him, and he could feel the prince’s breath on his forehead as he spoke with increased urgency.

“Poe!  Please, are you all right?”

“Head hurts,” Poe mumbled.  He managed to open one eye and got a glimpse of a field stretching out before them before he had to clamp his eyelid closed again against the glare of the sun.  “What happened?”

“Oh God, Poe, I’m so sorry—”  Ben broke off, and past the throbbing ache that resounded through Poe’s entire skull, he felt Ben’s lips press against his forehead.  That made Poe feel very happy but no less confused.

“What. . . .” he tried to ask again, but his head hurt too much for him to get the words out.

“You—you fell off your horse and hit your head,” Ben finally explained.  “I’m taking you home, to the physician.” 

“My horse,” muttered Poe.  “Where is he?”

“Right behind us.  I tied the reins to my bridle.”

That worry eased, another wormed its way into Poe’s foggy brain, which was beginning to clear if not hurt less: “Rey. . . ?”

Ben made a frustrated noise.  “I don’t know, I guess she went back to the castle already.  Quit trying to talk!”  Poe felt the prince’s thighs shift behind him as Ben urged his horse forward again, but as soon as the animal started to walk, the forward motion of its gait made Poe’s head throb with such force, he felt nearly nauseous.

“Ben, _stop_ , please,” Poe groaned, pressing his face against the prince’s shoulder.  Ben reined in his horse again and clutched Poe more tightly against him.

“What is it?  Poe, I have to get you back to the castle!  You’re. . . you’re bleeding, and there’s a knot on your head.”

“It _hurts_.”

“I know, darling, I’m _sorry_.”  Poe was trying to comprehend that the sullen man who hated him had just called him “darling,” and wondering if he was hallucinating, when Ben spoke again.  “I’m going to do something that will help the pain, all right?  Just be still, and—and don’t be frightened.”

“Mmhm.”  Poe didn’t care _what_ Ben did if it would lessen the horrible ache.  The prince’s lips touched his forehead again, and Ben’s hand moved from the side of Poe’s face to cover the wound on the back of his head.  Ben murmured words Poe couldn’t understand, and Poe felt something almost like a tingling in his head—no, not in his head, _inside his brain_.  Perhaps it _should_ have been frightening, but to Poe, it was only a relief, for it diluted the pain like water mixed into wine.  What’s more, the tingling was uncannily familiar, almost comforting.  It made Poe feel warm, drowsy. . . and safe.

_It’s him_ , he thought, luxuriating in how the tingling muted the throbbing in his head.  _His magic. . . he really **did** cast a spell on me!  To heal me?_   Whatever the spell was, Poe didn’t hurt so much anymore, even when Ben turned his face forward and started the horse walking again.

“Ben, thank you,” Poe breathed.  Eyes still closed, he fumbled with his right hand until he found Ben’s, clutching the reins.  Poe folded his fingers over the other man’s and squeezed them.

“Don’t thank me,” Ben muttered.  “It’s my fault.”  He sounded so miserable, Poe tried to reassure him, but it was hard to make his mouth move.  All Poe really wanted just then was to go to sleep.

“Ben,” he mumbled, but didn’t get any further.

“What?” he heard the prince ask.  “Poe?  Poe!”  Ben jostled him a little and cried, “No, wake up!  You can’t go to sleep _now_ — _Poe!_ ”  Poe was finally able to ignore him like Rey had commanded, and he fell into what felt like the best sleep of his life.

\--

The next time he woke up, Poe was in bed, but not his own.  Instead of his lumpy, sometimes prickly straw-filled mattress, he lay on what felt like a cloud.  He was on his back, head turned to the left and resting on a pillow even softer than the mattress, and he could feel silky bed linens against his hands.

_Perhaps I died,_ Poe mused drowsily, _and this is Heaven._   But then a throb of pain from the wound on his head informed him that he was still very much alive.

Poe groaned softly and opened his eyes.  The cloud-like bed sat in the middle of a bedroom far larger than Poe’s own, with tapestries hanging on the stone walls lit by the flicker of candles somewhere behind Poe.  He was able to make out the bulk of other pieces of elaborate furniture throughout the room, but Poe’s attention was captured by an ornate chair placed a mere foot from the bed—mostly because Ben was slumped in it, asleep.

“Where am I?” Poe muttered aloud.  Was this Ben’s bedroom?  Surely not, although it seemed nice enough.  Poe had no idea of how he had come to be there, or why he was alone with the prince.  Or why he was wearing. . . what _was_ he wearing?  No pants, that was for sure.  Feeling his face heat up, Poe shifted onto his left side to peer under the sheet that covered him.  Just that little movement made fresh pain flare up in his stiff back and limbs, and now he remembered falling from his horse and hitting the ground, hard.

_Ben, I was riding after Ben—and ran straight into a branch like a fool.  He must have picked me up and brought me back here. . . and. . . ._   Poe saw that he was wearing the long, knee-length tunic he sometimes slept in, and what’s more, he was clean.  _He couldn’t have. . . surely he didn’t. . . ._

Then Poe remembered Ben saying something about the royal physician, and Poe sighed with both relief and a touch of regret.  He dropped the sheet around himself and shifted his head, wincing, to look at the prince again.  Ben couldn’t have been very comfortable with his large frame folded into a chair that looked better suited to the petite queen.  His head was tilted back on the gilt wooden edge of the chair’s back, and his lips were parted as he breathed.

_He took care of me,_ Poe thought with a burst of affection that threatened to make him tear up.  _He could have just left me out there and claimed he never saw me—would have been a good way to get rid of me, in fact.  He can’t hate me, not if he did all this. . . ._

Although he supposed he really should let Ben sleep, Poe wanted to know exactly what had happened, and what was more, he was lonely and wanted the prince’s company.  Poe stretched out an arm, hesitated, then put his hand over Ben’s where it rested on the arm of the chair.

“Ben,” Poe murmured, squeezing his hand.  Ben started awake, sitting up so quickly, Poe heard his neck crack when he lifted his head.

“Poe!”  The prince stared at him, dark eyes wide.  Poe drew his hand back as Ben scrambled to perch on the edge of his chair and look down at him.  “Are you—how do you feel?”

“My head still hurts,” Poe told him, “but. . . not as badly, I think.  And my back hurts.  Well, _everything_ hurts.”

“I’m not surprised.  You’re bruised all over,” said Ben.

“All. . . over?”  Poe’s cheeks burned again.  “You—did you. . . change my clothes?”

“No!  _No._ ”  Ben blushed too, staining the tops of his pale cheekbones a dark pink.  “The. . . the physician examined you while you were unconscious.  His assistants, um, bathed you.  I just got your tunic for them to put on you—your clothes were torn.  And dirty.”

“Oh.”  Poe closed his eyes in embarrassment at the thought of the physician’s two assistants—both young maidens—seeing him unclothed.  It wasn’t as bad as if Ben had bathed him, but still. . . .

“Was. . . was that all right?” Ben was still stammering.  “You wouldn’t wake up, so I just. . . grabbed something from your room.  I knew you wouldn’t want me in there, but there was no one else—I didn’t tell anyone what happened until after he’d examined you and said you would be all right once you woke up.  Mother’s beside herself, and so angry with me—so is Rey.  I think she hates me now, even more than _you_ must hate me.”

Poe had opened his eyes about midway through Ben’s rambling, and he watched the prince’s face, now downturned, as he talked.

“Ben,” Poe managed to put in when the prince paused for breath.  “I’m sorry, I mean—Prince Solo.”  Ben winced as if Poe had physically slapped him.  Poe went on, almost smiling at the prince’s chagrin in spite of how much his head hurt, “It’s all right.  That you went in my room, I mean.  And. . . I don’t hate you.”

Ben’s brown eyes flicked up to meet Poe’s gaze.  The prince looked suspicious and tense, but not as unhappy as he had a moment ago.

“The physician said I’ll be all right?” Poe asked.

“Yes,” Ben nodded.  “Your head was bleeding, but it’s only a shallow cut, and he bandaged it after they—they washed the blood out of your hair.”  A slight tremor moved through Ben’s body as if he were trying to hold back another wince.  Poe put a hand tentatively to his head and touched the bandage he hadn’t noticed before.  Underneath the cloth wrapping, he could feel the knot that was still swollen where his head had made contact with whatever he’d hit it on.  Touching the spot hurt, and Poe groaned and let his hand drop back to his side.

“I must look frightful, especially if I’m bruised all over too.  I’ll ruin the ambiance at dinner tonight, so I’m surprised your mother’s not angry at _me,_ ” Poe muttered, trying to lighten Ben’s mood a little.  Ben’s lips twitched, but Poe couldn’t tell whether he were trying not to smile or to frown.

“Poe, never mind _dinner._   The physician said you have to stay in bed another full day, at least, until he’s sure you won’t faint again.  And anyhow, dinner was hours ago.”

“What?”  Poe’s irritation at the thought of spending a whole day in bed turned to shock.  “What time is it?  How long was I unconscious?”

“It must be after midnight by now,” Ben told him.  “You woke up once when I was bringing you back here, but since then. . . it’s been more than twelve hours.  I was. . . .”  He looked away, at the dim far wall of the room, with his usual scowl settling back onto his face.  Poe thought Ben was angry until he finally finished the sentence.  “Even though the physician said you would be fine, I was afraid you weren’t ever going to wake up.”

“Twelve hours,” Poe whispered to himself.  “No wonder you were asleep.  But—but what are you doing here?  You haven’t been with me all day. . . ?”

“Of course I have!” Ben snapped, turning his glare back down on Poe and making the knight wonder if “angry” was just the prince’s default emotional state.  “The physician was just going to leave one of those silly girls with you!  They said they’d tell me when you woke up, but the way they looked at you, either one of them would forget all about it as soon as you opened those eyes of yours and looked at them with that. . . that _look_.”

Now Poe really did smile, out of amusement at how grumpy Ben had become once he was sure Poe was all right.  Even if Ben was complaining about him, that was better than him looking so pained and upset.

“You really can’t stand my eyes, can you?”  Poe gave a faint chuckle.  “Well, I’m awake, so you should go to bed.  Or to eat if you missed dinner.  If you don’t trust the ‘silly girls’ not to throw themselves into bed with me, get someone else.”  He paused, trying to think past the ache in his head.  “Wait, this isn’t _your_ bed, is it?  Where am I?”

“Certainly it’s not my bed.  My chamber is in the tower; I couldn’t have carried you that far,” Ben retorted.  “We’re in one of the bedrooms where Mother puts visiting dignitaries—the plainest, because the others are occupied what with all her anniversary guests.”  He said this last with such a disparaging tone, Poe smiled again.

“This is plain?  I thought I had died and gone to paradise when I felt this bed beneath me,” Poe responded as he let his eyes drop closed again.  “My room is so small in comparison. . . well, I guess you’ve seen it now.”  Only then did something else Ben had said sink in: _He carried me here. . . ?_

The longer Poe laid there, thinking about the prince’s concern for him, the more he wanted Ben to stay.  _I have to make him leave,_ Poe thought through the throbbing in his skull, _before I end up begging him not to go. . . ._

“Go,” he mumbled.  “You’ve done far more for me than you had to, and I’m grateful.  You aren’t beholden to any more, Prince Solo.”

“Call me by my name, damn you,” Ben growled.  Poe hauled his eyes open again to see the prince leaning forward in his chair, hands gripping the edge of the down mattress as he glowered at Poe.

“You told me _not_ to,” Poe reminded him.  “And you told me not to look at you.  And to leave you alone.”  Ben dropped his head between his arms so that his hair fell down around his face—Poe hadn’t noticed before that his hair was loose, for once—and groaned.

“Have you made it your life’s mission to torment me?” Ben sighed, head still bent.  “Forget what I told you.  Please.  Call me by my name.  I owe you that much.”

“I said you aren’t beholden to me. . . Ben,” Poe breathed, staring at the black waves of the prince’s hair.  Poe wanted so badly to stroke it, to tangle his fingers in it and pull Ben’s head toward him so he could kiss the lips that had barely finished cursing him.

Ben lifted his head and looked straight at him, making Poe catch his breath in guilt.  The prince didn’t seem to have any idea what Poe had been thinking though, for he only muttered, “And I’m not leaving until I check your wound.  The physician said that it should heal quickly, but if it doesn’t, you could get sick.”

“All right.”  Poe lowered his eyes to escape Ben’s gaze.  _And he says **I** look too intent!_ he thought.  The prince pushed his chair back and stood, his joints popping as he stretched.

“Do _you_ want something to eat?” Ben asked.  “I should have thought of that before.”

“No, I’m not hungry.  My head hurts too much.”  It was the truth; the very thought of food made Poe’s stomach clench.  Ben didn’t reply, and Poe watched his long legs move as the prince walked out of his line of vision, to the other side of the bed.

“I’m going to kneel behind you so you don’t have to move your head,” Ben told him, “then remove the bandage.  I’ll put it back on if the wound looks well enough.”  Poe felt the mattress shift under Ben’s weight as the prince climbed up beside him, and the knight’s heartbeat sped up.  As Ben’s nimble fingers untied the knotted cloth around the crown of Poe’s head, he spoke again, this time in a low, almost husky tone.

“Poe. . . I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I did this to you.  I never meant—”  His voice broke before he finished in a quick mumble, “I _never_ wanted to hurt you.”

“Ben.”  Poe closed his eyes again but felt his lashes dampen anyway.  “Ben, it isn’t your fault.  I shouldn’t have gone after you—you told me to leave you alone, and I should have done what you wanted.  And I shouldn’t have been charging through the woods like a fool.  It’s my own damn fault, mine and that bloody tree’s.”  His attempt at humor fell flat, even to his own ears.  Ben’s fingertips came to rest in Poe’s hair once they’d untied the bandage, and he spoke so softly, Poe could barely hear him.

“But I did want you to come after me.  I wanted to hear you beg me to come back.”

“Why?”  As Poe whispered the word, hardly louder than the sound of a breath, he could feel the pain in his head throbbing with the pulse of his heart.

“No one has ever cared whether I was here or not.”

“Ben, that’s not true,” Poe muttered, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.  _But what did I expect,_ he scolded himself, _a profession of love for me?_   “Your family—”

“I’m not what they want me to be.”  The suddenly briskness in Ben’s tone matched the movement of his fingers as he parted Poe’s hair to examine his head.  “If they love me, it’s because they have to.  They’re my family.  But you—when you asked me to come back, I could believe it was because you cared for me.  Even though I’m not what Rey is.  Your head’s fine,” he announced in a turn of subject so abrupt, Poe felt nearly physically disoriented.

As Ben began to retie the bandage, Poe mumbled, “But what—what do you mean, you’re not what Rey is?”

“You barely knew her when you offered to teach her to joust,” Ben said, “and suddenly you’re the best of friends.  I’ve known you nearly my whole life, and you never offered to teach _me_.”

“You said you didn’t want to learn!”  Poe’s groan of exasperation turned to one of pain when his headache flared.  “ _Ugh_.”

“Only because you didn’t want anything to do with me.”  Ben realized then that Poe was hurting, and he dropped his fingertips back to Poe’s temple, massaging it.  “Is it worse?”

“Yes.”  Poe finally opened his eyes again to look up at Ben as best he could without moving his head.  “What you did to me before, on your horse. . . was that a—a spell?”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” Ben said, a bit grimly.  “Yes.  Mother doesn’t like anyone to know about our abilities, because so many people are frightened of magic.  But I had to do _something_ —you were hurting so.”

“Is it a healing spell?”

“No, I can’t do things like that.  It only. . . how can I explain?”  Ben’s fingers were still working over Poe’s skin, and although it didn’t really help the pain, Poe loved just feeling his touch.  Ben finally continued, “I suppose you could say it numbed the pain by getting. . . _between_ it and you, so you felt it less.”

“I could feel you inside me,” Poe whispered, “like. . . like what you’re doing now, but inside my head.  It felt so good.”  Ben’s fingers faltered then trembled as they resumed their motion.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he whispered.

“Yes.  _Please._   It hurts so much right now.”

Poe heard Ben take a deep breath then tell him, “All right.  Be still.”

Ben lay down on the bed behind Poe, raising himself on one elbow and stretching his long legs out against Poe’s much shorter ones; then he placed one hand over Poe’s wound as before.  Ben put his other arm over Poe’s chest and held him as he bent his head and whispered the same unintelligible words Poe had heard before.  Again, Poe felt the strange yet familiar tingling in his head, and the pain eased off.  When Ben finished, Poe could still feel a tense pressure like a tight band wrapped around his head, but the ache was gone.  Poe exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Thank you.”  Before Ben could withdraw, Poe lifted his own arm and raised it to hug the prince’s to his chest.  He felt such relief, such warmth, he wanted to make Ben feel better too.  “Ben, you’re wrong about no one caring for you or wanting you.  Whatever you think they want you to be. . . you’re everything you _should_ be.”

Ben didn’t answer.  He remained raised on his elbow as he shifted his hand from Poe’s head to his neck, and Poe realized something horrible: his open-necked tunic had left fully visible the silver chain Kylo had given him.  Ben wouldn’t have seen it earlier, if the physician’s assistants had been the ones to change Poe’s clothes, but he would surely see it now if he so much as glanced at where his hand now rested.

_No_ , Poe thought as he tensed, his eyes opening wide, _now—now he’ll know that I was the one he danced with.  Why didn’t I take it off?!  He’ll know, and that will ruin everything. . . ._   Poe’s panic brought an echo of his headache back, but it was nothing compared to the tension in his chest.

Then Ben’s fingers brushed the chain, and he said nothing.  His fingertips only traced the length of the chain down the side of Poe’s neck and across his throat, then let it go.  Poe heard the prince sigh as he lowered his head onto the pillow behind Poe.

_He must recognize it,_ Poe thought, _his own necklace—unless I’m completely wrong.  Unless Kylo isn’t Ben at all._   But Poe knew that he was.  They had the same scent, the same voice, the same touch that never failed to thrill Poe.  And now Ben must know that Edgar was really Poe.

_But he isn’t surprised,_ Poe realized.  _That means. . . he knew.  He already **knew**.  He knew it was me._

_He knew it was me. . . ._

Poe’s heart began to beat so hard, he half expected that Ben could feel it against his arm.

“Is your head better now?” Ben asked him in a low voice that startled Poe all the same.

“Yes,” Poe whispered.  His eyes, still open wide, darted over the wall opposite the bed without seeing it.

“The physician said that once you woke up, you’d be out of danger, so it’s all right for you to go back to sleep,” Ben murmured.  “You rest now.  I’ll go get someone to sit with you.”

When Ben started to sit up and tug his arm free of Poe’s grasp, the knight swallowed hard and whispered, “No. . . don’t go.”

“You told me to leave,” Ben pointed out, neither relaxing nor making a further attempt to withdraw.

“Forget what I told you,” Poe muttered, echoing Ben’s own earlier words.

“Poe. . . .”  Ben sounded both faintly amused and bewildered.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”  Poe closed his eyes again and covered Ben’s hand with his.  “You make me feel safe.  Please, stay with me, Ben.”

“All—all right.”  Ben finally lay back down behind him and whispered, “I won’t leave you.”  Poe could feel the prince’s breath tickling the back of his neck.

_He doesn’t know that **I** know,_ Poe realized, _else he wouldn’t be so calm._   Poe longed to confess everything right then and there, but that thought stayed him: for the first time all day, Ben was calm.  _If I tell him, he’ll. . . God only knows what he’ll do.  If “Edgar” is only a dalliance for him, he’ll be humiliated.  And even if. . . even if he loves me, like Rey said he does. . . ._   Every outcome Poe could imagine, whether Ben loved him or hated him, involved the prince running away, just as he had done that morning.  Poe didn’t think he could bear that.

_Tomorrow,_ he swore to himself, _I’ll tell him when we wake up, and let him do what he will.  That way, no matter what, I’ll at least have one night with him beside me._   Poe wished he could stay awake for that night, but Ben’s spell combined with his body’s efforts to begin healing itself had left him exhausted.  Poe finally gave in and let himself go, and he slept through the rest of the night and the early hours of the morning encircled in Ben’s arm.

\--

To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

Poe awoke to the sound of knocking on a heavy wooden door— _loud_ knocking.  His head contributed a dull ache to the unpleasant process of coming awake, but the pain wasn’t nearly what it had been the day before.  As he dragged his eyes open, Poe saw he was still in the guest room Ben had called “plain,” and what’s more, Ben was still in bed with him.  Poe’s elation was short-lived as the knocking had awakened the prince too, but for an instant, he felt Ben’s chest against his back, long legs tangled in his, an arm draped over his waist.

_If it’s morning, he stayed with me all night,_ Poe realized.

Then all too soon, it was over.  Ben mumbled a curse into Poe’s hair and withdrew from him.  Poe turned onto his back, cringing when the sore spot on his head hit the pillow, to see the prince scrambling out of bed and yanking on the linens on his side to smooth them out.  Poe watched Ben hurry across the room to the door, straightening his clothes and raking a hand through his hair as he went.

The prince opened the door to the physician, an old man with a white beard, and his two assistants.  The physician barged right on into the room, in his usual brusque way, but the maidens hung back with their eyes turned to the floor except for a shy glance at Poe every now and then.  They were lovely identical sisters with long, ash-blonde hair trailing from two buns each wore on her head.  Poe had never paid them much notice before, but now what Ben had told him about his bath made him acutely aware of their presence.

“How is he?” the physician demanded of Ben even as he was stalking over to Poe’s bedside.  Poe sat up, and a rush of dizziness made his head swim.  When he put a hand to his temple and winced, the doctor grumbled, “Stop thrashing around, boy.  You’ll make yourself sick.”  Being called “boy” in front of both Ben and the assistants didn’t make Poe feel any less embarrassed about the whole situation.

“He was doing well last night,” Ben muttered.  “The wound looked—”

“You mean you haven’t checked it since last _night_?  The sun’s already up!”  The physician made a rather bear-like growling noise of frustration.

“I just woke up!” Ben declared, but the old man only rolled his eyes and gestured at the assistants to come forward.

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you with a patient,” he snapped.  “Sleeping all night instead of watching over him!  Semele and Agave would have actually taken care of him!”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Ben retorted.  Both the girls looked as if they wanted to sink right into the floor, and Poe might have wanted the same if he weren’t so enjoying seeing Ben scolded.  Few people could get away with talking that way to the prince, but due to the physician’s age and medical skills, he was able to speak his mind.  The poor assistants, on the other hand, couldn’t do the same to defend themselves.  But, Poe thought, they shouldn’t need to: they were too shy even to look Poe in the eyes, much less try to seduce him as Ben apparently suspected.  _There’s no reason for him to be so mean to them!_ Poe decided.

Aloud, he said, “I’m sure they would have cared very well for me, but I’m really all right.  My head hardly hurts at all.”  A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but he managed a convincing smile at the physician and assistants, the latter of which stared at him wide-eyed then looked down again, blushing.  Ben fairly bristled.

“I’m still going to re-examine you, and you’re still not leaving this room until tomorrow,” the physician announced, then, turning to Ben, added, “And _you_ get out of here.  He can have visitors this afternoon, but you’ll just get in the way until then.  Useless boy!”  Poe grinned to hear Ben called “boy” as well, but his amusement evaporated when Ben glared at all four of them then stormed to the door.  Poe could tell he was furious from the set of his jaw, but his eyes looked hurt as well.

“Wait!” Poe cried before he knew what he was going to say.  He thought Ben might ignore him, but the prince stopped and looked back at him, jaw still clenched.

“He was going to get one of your assistants, but I asked him to stay instead,” Poe mumbled to the physician.  “He really did take good care of me.  He’s not. . . not useless.”  He turned his eyes up to Ben, who was still watching him.  “Thank you.”  The prince only gave him a brief nod, but Poe thought he looked at least a little appeased.  Nevertheless, Ben left the room without another word, and Poe sighed when he heard the door close with a thud.

Ignoring Ben’s dramatic exit, if he even noticed it at all, the physician removed the bandage from Poe’s head and examined the wound before concluding that it probably would heal without further complications.  Either Semele or Agave—Poe wasn’t able to tell them apart—put on a clean bandage while the physician asked Poe about his pain and dizziness, then made the younger man follow his finger with his eyes to test his mental coordination.  By the time it was all over, Poe’s head ached more than it had when he awoke, and he wished the physician hadn’t come in at all.

Still, Poe thanked him and the assistants.  The physician waved off Poe’s gratitude and lectured him about staying in bed until the next morning, but Semele and Agave managed shy smiles at Poe before refusing to look at him again.  They brought him a small amount of food which Poe was able to eat; then the physician left the girls there with Poe, and they sat stiffly on a settee across the room from the bed without speaking to their patient until Rey and the queen came to visit him in the early afternoon.

“I think that was the most awkward morning of my life,” Poe groaned to his visitors when the two assistants had fled.  “And I really am fine—I don’t know why I have to stay in bed.”

“Because you’re stubborn and cocky,” Queen Organa informed him, “and you would end up on the floor before you’d admit that you need to be more careful.”  Poe had to smile because she was right, but her comment reminded him of something else.

“What happened really _was_ my fault,” he told both her and Rey, “not Ben—Prince Solo’s.  Please don’t be angry at him.”  Queen Organa frowned, but Rey nodded with a sigh.

“And it’s my fault too, if it’s anybody’s,” she pointed out.  “I told you to go after him.  All _three_ of us need to be more careful.”

“Ben’s behavior is still inexcusable,” said the queen.  She leaned forward from her chair—the same one where Ben had been sleeping the evening before—and smoothed the tousled, wavy hair over Poe’s forehead as if she were his mother too.  “He acts like a child sometimes.  I suppose his father and I are partially to blame for spoiling him, but. . . I thought he would have grown out of it by now.”

“He didn’t mean for me to get hurt,” Poe murmured.  The queen sat back and smiled at him, although it was a tense, tired smile.

“I know he didn’t, Poe.  But you _did_ get hurt, because of him, because he can’t. . . .”  She trailed off, pursing her lips in thought, then went on more carefully, “Ben’s very much like his father in some ways.  Han never learned how to show affection, not the way we—that is, Rey’s father and I—did.  It nearly took an act of God for Han to say he loved me the first time, and I could probably count on my fingers the number of times he’s said it since.  I know his feelings are in there _somewhere_ , but even so, this whole. . . _celebration_ of our marriage has felt more like a sham than anything else.  Ben’s idea to hold the masquerade balls was very fitting, because the king and I have spent so much of our lives hiding behind masks, figurative ones.”

“You’re scaring Poe,” Rey muttered with a half-playful, half-serious roll of her eyes.  “He’ll probably decide to become a monk as soon as he can get out of that bed.”  The queen smiled again, a bit more genuinely this time.

“I’m sorry, Poe,” she said.  “I only meant that Ben does care about you, but he doesn’t know how to show his feelings for anyone.  And I believe that frightens him, so he pushes us all away.”

Poe nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, on something else she’d said.

“The—the masquerades were _his_ idea?” Poe stammered.

“Yes.  I was surprised too,” Queen Organa told him.  “And then he refused to attend at all.  I _wasn’t_ surprised at that.”  She gave a shrug of her narrow shoulders.  “But everyone seems to be enjoying them, so I’m grateful to him.”

“If he _did_ attend, he’d probably cause some kind of disaster,” muttered Rey, “so it’s just as well he refuses.”  Poe nodded again, hardly hearing her.

The queen glanced at her niece and asked, “Rey, would you mind leaving us?  Poe needs to rest, but there’s something I must discuss with him first.  I’ll be along in a minute.”

“All right.”  Rey got up and gave Poe a sudden grin.  “You’d better be out of that bed tomorrow, Sir Dameron.  I need more jousting practice, and Father and I are going home on the Sabbath.  Besides, you can’t miss the last masquerade.”

“Of course not,” Poe replied with a smile he didn’t quite have to force.  “I don’t think I could stand lying around for another day anyway.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Rey had gone, Queen Organa said in a quiet voice, “Ben told me he used a spell on you.”

  
“Oh, er. . . yes.”  Poe could tell from her slight frown that she wasn’t pleased about it.  “Only to ease my pain—my head was aching so badly, I couldn’t stand to be moved.  And the second time, last night, I _asked_ him to do it.”

“He did it twice?”  The queen sighed, and Poe wished he knew when to keep his mouth shut.  However, she said, “I don’t begrudge him doing it to help you.  Only. . . Poe, you will keep silent about it, won’t you?”  
  
“Of course,” Poe assured her.  “I haven’t spoken of it with anyone but you.  Not even the physician.”

“Good.  The king isn’t comfortable with magic—and he has good reason.  You’ve heard what my father used it to do.”  
  
Poe had; _everybody_ had.  He had always suspected that the tales of Lord Vader, grandfather of Rey and Ben, were mostly exaggerated legends; in fact, Poe had never truly believed in magic at all until Ben used it to help him.  Now, he wondered just how many of the stories about Vader were really true.

“I have a little ability,” the queen was saying, “but nothing like what Ben and my brother possess.  And Rey. . . she isn’t even aware of it yet, but I think she has inherited it as well.  In any case, Ben is disliked enough as it is.  If the people find out he’s a mage as well—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Poe.  Ben’s powers had the opposite effect on him: they made the prince all the more intriguing to him.  Nevertheless, he understood the queen’s concerns.

_And besides,_ Poe thought, _I like knowing one of his secrets, something we shared together.  The way it felt when he used that spell. . . ._

“Poe, there’s one other thing,” Queen Organa said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Do you love him?”

Poe had been gazing down at the sheets spread over his lap, but at her question, he jerked his head up to stare at her.

Unperturbed by the hunted expression on Poe’s face, the queen persisted, “Are you in love with my son?”

“I. . . .”  Poe looked down again and shuddered.  If anyone else had asked, he would have denied it, but he had never lied to the queen before.  He didn’t think he _could_ lie to her.  Finally, he whispered, “Yes.”

“As I thought.  And Poe. . . .”  Queen Organa touched the side of his face to make him turn to her again.  “I believe he loves you.  He would never admit it to me, I’m sure, but the way he looks at you—I know that look.”

“Most of the time, he looks at me like he hates me,” Poe mumbled.

“That’s only when you can see him.  Like I told you, he doesn’t know what to do with his feelings.”  She took Poe’s hand in hers as she went on, “I can’t tell you to pursue him at any cost—that would be unfair to you, and about as reckless as riding your horse into a tree.”  After that statement coaxed a smile from Poe, the queen continued, “I want you both to be happy, and I truly believe you can be happy with each other.  But I won’t tell you it will be easy.  It’s _never_ been easy for Ben’s father and me.  Only you know how much you can give of yourself without letting him take it all—and no matter what anyone tells you about love, or how romantic it sounds, never _ever_ let anyone take all of you.  That cost my mother her life and nearly cost my father his soul.”

Poe’s fingers clenched over her hand, as pale as Ben’s but smaller even than Poe’s.  He had heard the tale of her parents’ doomed love told over and over, most often told as a tragic romance, and he understood exactly what she meant.  To Poe—and, it seemed, to the queen—the story was all tragedy and no romance at all.

“I won’t let that happen,” Poe whispered.

“I don’t think you will—too stubborn and cocky, as I said.”  Queen Organa let his hand go and stood up.  “Don’t worry about Ben.  Just get yourself well.”

But once she was gone, Poe _did_ think about Ben. . . and Ben never came back to see him.  Poe rested fitfully that night, with nervous Semele and Agave taking turns sitting up with him while the other slept on the settee.  The next morning, the physician gave Poe one last examination and finally declared him fit to get out of bed.  Poe limped back to his own room, stiff and praying that no one would see him before he could get dressed.

Poe was tempted to seek out Ben, but he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if he found the prince.  He had lost his desire to confess that he knew Ben to be Kylo—mostly because Poe was angry.

_I was stuck in that room all day, and he never came back—after he promised he wouldn’t leave me!_ Poe sulked as he walked to the stables in search of Rey instead; she had last been seen heading that way.  _Maybe the physician upset him, but that’s no reason to take it out on **me**._

He found Rey, and they spent the rest of the day on horseback.  Rey didn’t let Poe be quite as active as he wanted, and she frequently questioned him about how he was feeling.  To be honest, he _did_ get dizzy from time to time, but his headache was gone.  At some point during the day, Poe lost the bandage the physician had left on him; however, his wound had scabbed over and didn’t cause him any trouble, although he hated to think about what it must look like under his hair.

At dinner that night, Poe saw Ben for the first time in almost two days.  The prince refused to meet Poe’s eyes, and after the first few moments, Poe ignored him as well.  It wasn’t as if nothing had happened between them—it was worse, in a way, because Poe felt like they were now in different worlds.

Two more days passed with no contact between them.  The lump on Poe’s head slowly dissolved although the spot remained tender, and his dizzy spells grew fewer and farther apart.  Only once did the pain return, but it was agonizing and came in the middle of night before the final masquerade.  Poe sat up in bed in his dark room, clutching his head and weeping from the ache that throbbed in his skull.  Had Ben been there, Poe would have swallowed his pride and begged for his help, but Poe was alone and incapable even of getting out of bed; he had no way of getting aid from the prince or anyone else.  Eventually, the pain subsided, and Poe collapsed on his back, trembling and exhausted.

He slept late the next morning and remained nervous for the rest of the day.  _What if the pain comes back?_ Poe fretted as he sat on the ground beside Rey under the outdoor canopy, where the court watched what must have been the most boring play ever composed.  _I might miss the masquerade, and it’s the last one._   He cast one oblique glance at Ben some distance away from them; somehow, the prince had managed to absorb himself in the play and was watching it intently.

_But what can I expect to happen?_   That thought doubled Poe’s nervousness.  _He won’t even look at me now, so perhaps he won’t be there tonight.  And if he is. . . what good could possibly come of it?_

When the play was over, Poe remained cross-legged on the ground, fretting.  Rey had started to get up, but when she saw Poe hadn’t moved, she settled back into the grass.

“Poe, are you all right?” she asked.  “Do you feel bad again?”

“No. . . no, I’m fine.”  Poe shook himself out of his daze and got to his feet.  Rey frowned up at him before taking the hand he offered to help her stand too.

“Did you have another fight with Ben?” the princess persisted.

“No.  I haven’t even talked to him since. . . since the physician let me out of bed.”  A knowing look crossed her face then, and Poe glowered at her.

“So that’s what’s wrong,” Rey declared.  “Why haven’t you talked to him?”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”  Poe started walking back toward the castle in the hopes that she would stop questioning him, but she followed him, arguing.

“How do you know _that_?”

“Because he’s been avoiding me.”

Rey groaned, “Then stop _letting_ him.  _Make_ him talk to you!  He’s probably embarrassed about everything, just as much as you are.”

 But Poe was remembering what the queen had told him— _Don’t let him take it all_ —and what Ben had said after Poe’s accident— _I wanted you to come after me._

_I **did** go after him once,_ Poe told himself, _and I’m not doing it again.  I’m not going to give in to him._

“Rey, stop trying to make us be friends,” he said aloud.  “It isn’t going to happen.  He’s too stubborn.”

“You mean you’re _both_ too stubborn,” Rey snapped as she shoved past him and stalked through the gate leading into one of the castle’s gardens.  “I told you, he’s in love with you, and I thought maybe you felt the same way. . . that maybe you could be good for each other.  But I forgot how hardheaded you both are.  You’re right—it wouldn’t ever work.”  She glared at Poe over her shoulder before disappearing into the garden.

Her words echoed louder in his head than anything either the queen or the prince had said: _It wouldn’t ever work._

_Maybe **I** shouldn’t go to the ball,_ Poe thought.  _Even if he’s there, what would be the point of it?  What good would it do to dance with him one last time, or to let him kiss me?  To feel his hands on me again. . . ._

But despite what little good it might do, despite what all the others had said, Poe returned to his room to dress for the masquerade as soon as he had rushed through that evening’s early dinner.  He had no mirror of his own, so on his way to the throne room, he stopped before an ornate one hung in a corridor for decoration.  The reflection that looked back at him had an unfamiliar tiredness in its eyes, but Poe decided he had a right to be tired after the week he’d had.  His best clothes still seemed too plain, though, and even the mask he’d been so proud of no longer pleased him that much.

_This is probably a mistake,_ he realized as he turned away from the mirror and trudged on to the throne room, _but I have to know if he’s there. . . .  I have to see him one more time._

\--

To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

Poe hardly heard whatever small talk the retainer made this time, because he was too busy scanning the growing crowd for Kylo.  To Poe’s amazement, he saw his mysterious partner almost right away, as the retainer returned his invitation.

“I suppose there isn’t any point in giving this back,” the older man chattered when Poe took it, “but perhaps you’d like a souvenir?”

“Mmn,” Poe mumbled, shoving the invitation into a pocket and hurrying away from the entrance.  Kylo was leaning on the wall where Poe had stood the week before; he was again dressed mostly in black with his long hair draping his shoulders and the silver mask hiding his eyes.  Poe paused some yards away to study him in the dim candlelight, feeling his heart thumping in his chest and a slightly dizzy sensation circling his head.

 _Should I turn back?_ he wondered.  _Maybe—_

But then Kylo turned his head and saw him.  He pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward Poe before hesitating himself.  Poe swallowed hard and went over to him.  As he drew closer, Kylo reached for him, and Poe gave in completely.  He pressed himself against the larger man’s chest, cheek resting on his shoulder, as Kylo enfolded him in his arms.

“Edgar,” the deep voice breathed in his ear.  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“I thought _you_ wouldn’t.  I thought I wasn’t going to—to see you again,” Poe murmured against Kylo’s neck.  _Not like this, anyway,_ he thought, _not where you would hold me and call me—_

“My little robin. . . .”  Kylo’s mouth brushed his ear, just behind the mask, then began to nibble on it.  Poe gasped and clutched the cape covering the other man’s back.  “Come outside with me?” Kylo whispered in between caresses to the top of Poe’s ear.  “I want you. . . .”

“A-ah. . . no, I. . . I want to dance with you first,” Poe murmured, trying to keep his voice steady.  As excited as Kylo was making him, Poe enjoyed teasing him by making him wait. . . and anyway, he really _did_ want to be able to remember another dance with his mysterious lover.

  
“I can’t say no to you,” sighed Kylo as he lifted his head to smile down at Poe.  “And besides, I’ll enjoy it—you dance very well.”  He stepped back enough to take Poe’s hand, and they began to dance there in the shadows at the edge of the crowd, unnoticed by anyone else.

“So do you.”  Poe looked up at the metallic mask and the pale, expressive mouth below it.  _How did he learn to dance like this?_ Poe wondered.  _Lessons, I suppose, like the rest of the court, but his would have been private.  Where will he dance next—and with whom?_   Poe drew closer to his partner, wishing he could somehow preserve the fleeting moment when the prince was completely his.

“You’re still wearing my necklace,” Kylo observed.  He brought their clasped hands to Poe’s neck to touch the silver chain, which Poe was wearing outside of his shirt.

“I haven’t taken it off all week,” Poe told him.

Kylo’s arm tightened across his back, and he leaned forward to press his lips to Poe’s forehead—and then the first wave of dizziness Poe had felt all day crashed over him, and he stumbled.  He thought maybe he stepped on Kylo’s foot, but in any case, he fell into his partner’s chest and would have ended up on the ground if Kylo hadn’t caught him.

“Edgar!  Are you all right?”  Kylo pulled him aside and leaned against the wall again for support as he held Poe up.  “What is it?”

“I’m—I’m all right,” Poe breathed.  He straightened up, but Kylo refused to let him go.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  I just. . . .”  Poe sighed, knowing that he would have to pretend not to know Kylo’s true identity if he didn’t want to cause a scene there where anyone could see them.  “I injured myself this week, and I’m still a little weak.”

“What happened?”  Kylo lifted a gloved hand to cup Poe’s jaw, stroking his cheek with one thumb.  “Were you badly hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” Poe repeated.  “I was reckless and fell from my horse, and I hit my head.  This is the first time I’ve felt dizzy all day, though.  I’m almost well.”

Kylo’s other hand had drifted to Poe’s head, and he tugged the smaller man forward to lean against him with his head on his shoulder once more.  Poe felt Kylo’s fingers spreading the locks of hair on the back of his head.  _He’s looking,_ Poe realized, _to see if the wound is really healing._

“Are you in any pain?” Kylo asked him.

“No.”  Poe almost left it at that, and he wasn’t sure what made him continue, “Not today, but last night, in the night—I never knew my head could ache like that.”

“Didn’t you get anyone to help you?” Kylo whispered.

“No,” Poe mumbled.  “I was alone, and I couldn’t have gotten up even if there were anyone who _could_ help.”

“I’m sorry, my darling,” Kylo murmured as he turned his head to cover Poe’s forehead with kisses.  “I’m so sorry you were alone and suffering.”

“I wanted you with me,” Poe said before he could stop himself.  He looked up at the mask, imagining the eyes he knew it hid, and couldn’t keep an accusatory tone from his voice.  “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”  Kylo sucked his lower lip between his teeth, then took Poe’s head in both his hands and leaned his forehead down against the shorter man’s.

“I wish I had been there,” he whispered.  “But I’m here now—tell me what you want from me.  Do you want to dance some more?  Or—mmpgh!”  He broke off in a low moan when Poe lifted up on his toes and pressed their mouths together.

“Kiss me,” Poe demanded.  “Take me outside and kiss me.”

A slight smile finally crossed Kylo’s face.  “You’ve changed your mind, hmm?  I won’t argue with you.  As I said, I can’t say no to you—as if I wanted to!”  As they started toward the balcony, Kylo’s arm around Poe’s waist, he added, “But do tell me if you start feeling ill.  I don’t want you to suffer.”

Poe nodded, but he thought it would take another fall on the head to keep him from kissing Kylo again after that first taste of his lips.  As soon as they reached their bench in the corner of the balcony, he pushed Kylo down to sit on it then knelt straddling his thighs.  Poe was actually the taller one in that position, and he smirked as he looked down at his lover.

“I thought you wanted _me_ to kiss _you_ ,” Kylo murmured with a smirk of his own.

“I changed my mind again,” Poe teased him.  He bent his head to brush Kylo’s lips but pulled back when the other man tried to kiss him deeply.  Kylo gave an impatient little growl of frustration, yet he smiled all the same.

“This is how I’ve dreamed of you,” Poe whispered, “doing whatever I say. . . letting me do whatever I want to you.”

“Oh God,” Kylo groaned.  He lifted his hands to Poe’s waist and gripped it as he looked up at the smaller man’s masked face.  “I’ll do it, anything— _anything_ you want.”  His words sent a stab of desire straight through Poe, and he clutched Kylo’s shoulders and kissed him again, hard this time.  Kylo thrust his tongue up into Poe’s mouth, and Poe sucked on it eagerly.  He felt Kylo’s hands drop to his hips and pull him down; then Kylo’s own hips rocked up to rub against Poe.  Poe moaned into the larger man’s mouth and thrust down against him—until a gasp from behind him made them break off and turn.

Poe thought the look of horror on his face must match that of the two girls staring at him and Kylo.  Despite the identical swan masks the young women wore, he knew immediately that they were the physician’s assistants, Semele and Agave.  They were dressed in simple white gowns, but their unusual hairstyles gave them away.  Both sets of hazel eyes framed by white feathers darted over Poe, and he knew they must recognize him, judging from their expressions.  _Of course, they’ve seen the necklace,_ he thought, _and with my hair and how short I am. . . they **have** to recognize me._

Then, the girl on the left smiled.  She looked at her sister, nudged her, and the other girl smiled too.  They both backed away, the one on the right blushing visibly even in the faint moonlight, and withdrew around the corner, back inside.  The girl on the left looked back once and met Poe’s eyes through their masks as she had refused to do when their faces were bare.  Her dainty lips parted in a wide smile, and she touched a fingertip to them in a pantomime of silence before she darted away after her sister.

Poe relaxed, slouching down on Kylo’s lap as he let out the breath he’d been holding.  He turned back to see the other man’s mouth literally hanging open.

“I thought they were going to scream,” Kylo said, so seriously it made Poe start to shake with suppressed laughter.  Kylo began to laugh too and pulled Poe closer, into an embrace.  “Do you think they’ll tell anyone?”

“Tell them what?” Poe chuckled as he nuzzled the other man’s pale neck.  “That two beautiful men are making love outside?  Are you afraid we’ll attract a crowd?”

“Hmph. . . you’re the beautiful one.”  Kylo caught his mouth and kissed him, making Poe’s laughter fade into a slight whimper.  “People would come from miles around just to see your smile. . . your eyes. . . .”  In between caresses, he kept murmuring, “I’ll never forget your eyes, for as long as I live.  Every time you look at me, my heart breaks.”

“Kylo. . . why?”  Poe drew back from his kisses to look into the silver mask, wishing he could see his lover’s eyes in return.

“Because I want you so much,” Kylo whispered, “and you’ll never be mine.”  The words hurt Poe more than the pain in his head ever had.  Kylo pulled Poe to him again, and this time, Poe returned his kisses.  They kissed slowly at first, but then Kylo shifted his mouth to Poe’s neck and began to suck and bite at his skin.  Poe groaned and tilted his head back, hands gripping Kylo’s shoulders, as the other man’s tongue traced the tendon in his neck down to his clavicle.

“Your skin tastes so delicious,” Kylo murmured, “as delicious as you smell.”  In any other circumstance, Poe would have found that idea funny, as if he were being compared to a loaf of bread.  However, whispered in Kylo’s deep voice, the words had the most erotic sound imaginable.

“You smell like trees,” Poe panted, only half-aware that it sounded even sillier than him being delicious.  He bent his head to caress Kylo’s neck and the tresses of hair that fell against it.

“It’s the oil I put in my hair after I wash it.”  Kylo made a soft noise that was partly a laugh and partly a moan.  “You like the scent?”

“Yes. . . mmn.”  Poe slid his hands up Kylo’s back to stroke his fingertips through the ends of his hair.  “And the feel.  You should always wear your hair down—it’s so beautiful.  Everything about you is beautiful.”

“No. . . .”

“Yes, it is,” Poe insisted.  He pushed Kylo’s hair back to touch his mouth to the spot just below his ear, where he could feel the other man’s pulse against his lips.  “I can’t get enough of watching you, and when we’re apart, I see you every time I close my eyes.  I want to see more of you— _all_ of you.”  He tugged at the laces holding Kylo’s tunic closed at his throat, then when they loosened, pressed his lips to Kylo’s exposed breastbone.  Kylo’s chest rose and fell quickly with his breath as Poe sucked on his skin until a bruise blossomed beneath his mouth.

“Nngh. . . Edgar!”  Kylo tilted his head back and groaned, “That pretty mouth of yours is—is deadly!”

“Shall I stop?”  Poe teased him by licking the hollow at the base of his throat, then the underside of his jaw.  At the same time, he lifted his small hands to rub Kylo’s chest through his tunic, until he felt the larger man’s nipples stiffening under the thin fabric.

“No!”  Kylo’s voice was strained.  “For the love of Heaven, don’t stop!”  As Poe pinched and teased his flesh through his tunic, Kylo’s hands slid from Poe’s hips to grip his ass; then Poe was the one to groan when Kylo held him down and began to grind against him.

Poe covered Kylo’s neck with fervent caresses, then gasped into his hair, “You’ll do whatever I say?  Truly?”

“Yes!  Anything for you, my little robin.”  Kylo’s head turned, and Poe felt teeth catch his earlobe and tug on it gently before Kylo’s tongue flicked over the outer edge of his ear.  Kylo whispered, “You have only to ask, and it will be done.  My heart is already yours, and I’ll give you my body as well—I’ll become your slave!”

Half-moaning and half-whispering, Poe told him, “Then touch me, here,” as he reached down to grasp one of Kylo’s wrists and tug his hand over Poe’s thigh to his groin.

“Yes. . . .”  Kylo’s voice was breathless as he curled his hand over the front of Poe’s breeches and began to rub him, firmly.  Poe groaned and flicked his hips forward to push into his hand, and Kylo’s other hand clenched tighter over the curve of his ass.  Poe lifted his hand, now shaking, to Kylo’s chest and began to rub it again, circling both nipples with his thumbs.  Kylo whimpered and shifted under him, trying to resist the urge to thrust up against the man straddling his thighs.  Poe longed to feel Kylo’s hand ungloved, inside his breeches instead of outside them, bare skin against his own, but that was far too risky in a place where anyone might come out and find them.  _This may be all I ever have from him,_ Poe realized, and he pushed harder into Kylo’s cupped hand with the determination to take all the pleasure from it he could.

The larger man tilted his head back and drew quick, harsh breaths as Poe continued to massage his chest.  Poe eyed his throat before leaning forward to nip at the pale skin with his teeth, at the same time dropping his hands to the hem of Kylo’s tunic and shoving it up almost to his shoulders.  Kylo’s breath came even faster as Poe’s hands shifted to spread over his exposed chest, and Poe lifted his head to admire the his lover’s torso.  As awkward as his body had sometimes seemed obscured in clothing, underneath, it was muscular and honed from practice with his sword, and Poe could feel the firmness of his chest under his hands.

“You _are_ beautiful,” Poe murmured, eyes traveling down Kylo’s stomach to where his tight breeches revealed just how aroused he was.  Poe smiled as he put a hand there and resumed rubbing one of Kylo’s nipples with his other thumb.

“As I said the night we met, I’m sure you’re very important,” Poe whispered while he moved both hands slowly, rubbing his lover at about half the speed Kylo was touching him.  “And you really want me this badly?  A handsome, powerful man like yourself who could probably have anyone he desired?  Compared to you, I could be nobody. . . nothing.  Why would you want _me_?”

Poe didn’t really expect an answer, especially as he bent his head to flick his tongue over the nipple he wasn’t rubbing.  Yet in between low, gasping moans, Kylo answered him.

“Because you—you’re the _only_ one I desire.  Not just your beautiful face and—and body, but your pure heart. . . your love.”  Poe had covered his nipple with his mouth and begun to suck on it gently, and Kylo groaned with pleasure before gasping, “I love you, and I would give my life if I could die knowing _you_ loved _me_!”

Poe very nearly bit him in surprise; not only had he not expected an answer, he certainly hadn’t expected _that_ answer.  That evening, knowing that Kylo was aware of his true identity, Poe had realized just how much the other man desired him, but he never dreamed he would hear such words of devotion.  Perhaps Kylo had spoken them as unthinking hyperbole in the fever of purely physical passion—it certainly sounded like the sort of thing men said to the maidens they wooed in all the old stories.  But this wasn’t just _any_ man speaking to Poe now; it was a man whose own mother said never learned to show affection, and Poe felt the words in his heart as much as in his body.

From that instant, Poe’s lover ceased to be Kylo to him; Poe could only think of him as the prince, Ben, the only man Poe had ever loved.  Would Ben say he loved Poe and not mean it?  Maybe, but Poe decided to believe otherwise.

He lifted his head from Ben’s chest and locked his mouth over the larger man’s, hands leaving Ben’s body to clutch his back instead as Poe embraced him.  Ben’s cry of surprise was muffled by Poe’s tongue.  His hand was pinned between their bodies until he tugged it free and wrapped both arms around Poe’s waist to hold him close as Poe resumed the thrusting motion of his hips, now grinding against Ben’s groin instead of his hand.

“I _do_ love you,” Poe mumbled, pulling away from the kiss just enough to speak.  Ben was thrusting back against him now, clasping Poe to him in his arms.  After the firm touch of Ben’s hand, the pressure and friction of their motions had Poe close to coming, and he bucked his hips hard against Ben’s as he felt his abdomen tense up.  He kissed Ben again then hissed into his mouth, “I _love_ you, Ben!”

Ben’s arms clenched hard around Poe’s waist as his whole body stiffened.  Poe didn’t know if that was due to shock or an impending orgasm, but a second later, Ben thrust up against Poe and groaned through gritted teeth as he came.  The feeling of the larger man shuddering between his thighs drove Poe over the edge too, and his hips jerked forward hard against Ben’s until Poe finished and collapsed against his lover’s broad chest.

They sat there without moving save for their heavy breathing and one last shiver that worked its way through Poe’s body.  Ben’s arms had gone limp, resting on Poe’s waist but no longer embracing him, and Poe wondered what the prince was thinking.  Finally, when he had recovered his breath, Poe sat back against Ben’s thighs to look at his face.

“Take off your mask,” Poe murmured.

“No,” Ben said, the word little more than a breath.  Poe stared at him, uncomprehending.

“But I _know_.  I know who you are.  You can’t keep hiding from me.”  When Ben didn’t respond, didn’t even react, Poe told him in a fierce whisper, “Soon it will be midnight, and you’ll _have_ to take it off.”

Ben pressed his lips together in a line and gave a tiny shake of his head as he muttered, “I won’t do it.”  Hearing that stubborn declaration, so very like a thousand other declarations Ben had made in the past, Poe struggled to keep down the anger and frustration he felt growing in him.  He pulled away from Ben’s arms and stood on shaky legs before the bench, staring into the depths of the eyeless mask, hearing his own harsh breath; then Poe reached up and yanked his own mask off his face.  He clutched it to his chest, where the red feathers trembled.

“ _Why?_ ” Poe growled to hide the tremor he feared would sound in his voice.  His sudden rise to his feet had made him feel dizzy, and blood pounded in the veins behind his temples.

“It wasn’t supposed to go this far,” breathed Ben.  “It. . . it wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

“Then what _was_ it supposed to be?”  Poe’s head was beginning to ache, but he tried to ignore it.  “A fantasy for you?  A distraction?  Were you just _pretending_?”  His voice broke over the word, in spite of himself, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask what he really meant: _Were you lying when you said you loved me?_

Ben got to his feet then hesitated, looking down at Poe from where he towered over the shorter man.  His pale mouth worked, but he said nothing, and finally Poe turned away from him and went to the balustrade.  He braced himself upon it and gripped the stones in his clenched hands as he took deep gasps of the cool night air, fighting the pain in his head.  Despite Ben’s silence, Poe was acutely aware of the other man’s presence behind him.

“Go then,” Poe rasped.  “Go on and run—”  He broke off when a throb of pain pulsed from the back of his head straight through to his forehead.  He finally managed to finish, “Run away!”  There was still only silence from behind him, and Poe was certain Ben had disappeared without a sound, as he had often done before.  But then Poe heard the deep voice murmur his name.

“Poe. . . are you all right?”  When Poe didn’t answer, Ben persisted, “Are you hurting?”

“N-no.  No, I’m. . . I’m. . . _augh_.”  Another agonizing pulse filled Poe’s head, and he couldn’t pretend any longer.  He fell to his knees behind the balustrade and groaned, dropping his mask to clutch his head with both hands.

“Poe!”  An instant later, Ben was crouched behind him, pulling Poe into his arms, back against his chest.

“Ben—”

“Shhh.”  Ben gripped the fingertips of his glove in his teeth and tugged it off, then put his bare hand to Poe’s forehead and pressed his lips to the knight’s temple.  Poe heard the mumbled words of the now-familiar spell, and after an agonizing second, the pain faded.  He slumped back against the broad chest of the man behind him.

“Are you better now?” Ben whispered.

“Yes,” Poe breathed.  He felt Ben’s arms start to slip away from him, and Poe clamped his hands down over them.  “Stop,” he hissed, “don’t you run away from me this time.  You can’t hide anymore, even with that mask—no one else could have cast that spell.”

“What else could I have done?” Ben muttered.  “I couldn’t let you suffer like that, Poe.  No matter how much you tried to lie and say you weren’t hurting.”  He stayed still and tense for a moment; then Poe heard him sigh, and the stiff arms around him relaxed and pulled him closer.  Ben’s mouth returned to Poe’s temple and began to caress his face, trailing increasingly ardent kisses down his cheekbone.

“Oh God, Poe, I can’t let—can’t let you _go_ ,” he whispered.  As Poe’s breath began to come faster and he tilted his head into Ben’s kisses, he felt the cool metal of the mask against his skin.

“Ben,” Poe moaned, “I don’t _want_ you to let me go.  You—you fool, I _love_ you.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Ben murmured in Poe’s ear, “not when I said I loved you.  But I never meant for you to know—”  Poe cut him off with a kiss, turning his head to catch Ben’s mouth.

“When did you realize it was me?” Poe asked.  He leaned his head back on Ben’s shoulder; a dull pressure still filled it, but Poe was able to ignore that as long as the pain was gone.  “How long have you known?”

Ben was quiet for several seconds before he answered, “All along.  That first night, once all the guests had arrived and the retainer was distracted, I looked at his list to see what mask you’d worn, so I could find you and. . . and be with you, just once.”

Poe stared at him, into the darkness of his mask that hid his eyes, until Ben bent his head and turned his face away.

“I think I would have known anyway,” he muttered.  “What I said about your skin and your eyes. . . and with how short you are. . . .”  He gave a small, tired laugh.  “I think I would know you anywhere.”  Poe remained frozen and speechless within his arms until Ben dropped one hand to pick up Poe’s mask.

“But you’ve broken the rules, Sir Dameron, by taking off your mask before the night is over.  We have almost an hour left before midnight.”  Ben gently fitted the mask back over Poe’s face then trailed his fingertips over the knight’s lips.  “I’ll pretend I didn’t notice.”

“Ben. . . .”  Poe closed his eyes for a moment, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted but at the same time exhilarated.  Then he sat up, braced himself on Ben’s shoulder, and got to his feet.  Ben crouched there, looking up at him, until Poe held out his hand.  Ben placed his larger hand in it and let Poe draw him upward before letting go to slip his glove back on.

“If we have almost an hour left, we shouldn’t waste it,” Poe said.  “Come dance with me again.”

“Are you sure?”  Ben put both hands on Poe’s shoulders and turned his masked face down toward him.  “Your head—”

“It’s not hurting now,” Poe assured him as he put his hands over Ben’s and took a step backward, toward the doors leading inside, tugging the larger man after him.  “It feels a little strange, but it’s not hurting.”  Ben nodded, and when Poe turned to go inside, Ben followed, still clasping Poe’s hand.

They didn’t speak as they danced together through one song after another in the shadows near the wall.  After a time, Poe rested his head on Ben’s shoulder, and the prince put both arms around him.  Worries of what would happen at midnight drifted through Poe’s mind—Would Ben still refuse to unmask?  Would he run away once again?—but then he would forget everything except the safety he felt enveloped in his lover’s muscular arms, with Ben inclining his head from time to time to caress Poe’s hair.

When the clock began to strike midnight, Poe thought an hour could not have possibly passed so quickly.  All around them on the sides away from the wall, the other guests began to murmur and fidget, preparing to remove their masks, but both Poe and Ben froze.  Poe lifted his head and looked up at the prince.

“What are you going to do?” he whispered.

He saw Ben’s pale throat shift as he swallowed; then his gloved hands closed over Poe’s arms and gently pulled them away from his sides, freeing himself from the knight’s embrace.  _No,_ Poe thought, already beginning to shake his head, _don’t you leave me again—_

Ben slid his hands down to Poe’s and clasped them before bringing them to his mouth and kissing Poe’s fingers gathered in his hold.  Then he separated Poe’s hands, moved them up to each side of his mask, let them go.

“Take it off,” Ben murmured.

Poe drew in a breath so sharp, it almost hurt, and a corresponding twinge in his head made him blink hard.  Ben reached up again, this time to Poe’s face and _his_ mask.  As Ben’s fingers closed over the edges of the mask and its red feathers, Poe lifted the silver mask from the prince’s face.  Ben’s dark eyes, the brows slightly furrowed, looked down at Poe while his long fingers pushed the feathered mask up from Poe’s face, to rest on his hair.

“Ben,” Poe breathed as he gazed up at his lover’s white face and brown eyes, “you’re so handsome.  Why did you hide from me for so long?”

Ben smiled, abruptly and involuntarily, and Poe’s whole body felt suffused with warmth to see it.  Holding Ben’s mask against the side of his head with two fingers, Poe slid the rest into the prince’s hair and stroked his cheeks with his thumbs for a second before dropping his hands; he only just then remembered that anyone might see them together there inside, without their masks to conceal their identities.  Ben might have had the same thought, for he touched Poe’s cheek with his fingertips then let him go as well.  Poe thrust Ben’s mask at him awkwardly, and just as awkwardly, Ben took it.

“Now what do we do?” the prince asked as they stood there looking at one another.

“We have to talk,” muttered Poe.  He pulled his mask from his head and clutched it in front of him at his waist as he repeated, “We have to talk about. . . about this.  About everything.”

“I know,” Ben agreed even as he scowled.  “I don’t _want_ to talk about it, though.”

“Why?”  Poe took a step forward, clenching his hands over the red feathers of his mask, and glared up at the taller man.  “Why don’t you want to talk to me?”

“Because I’m afraid.”  Ben’s words, the naked honesty in them, dissolved all the irritation Poe had begun to feel.  “I’m afraid that if we talk about it, you’ll realize you’ve made a mistake.  And now I can’t pretend I’m someone else if you do.”  He gestured with the mask he still held, as if emphasizing the loss of the protection it had given him.

“Ben, I haven’t made a mistake,” Poe told him.  “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”  A murmur from nearby made him turn his head to see that much of the crowd had already dissipated, people leaving alone or in couples.  However, a small cluster of well-dressed men and women were still huddled nearby, and they were watching the prince and the knight.

“You should go,” Poe mumbled.  “People are talking about us.  When you want us to meet again, to talk—tell me.”

Ben nodded and drew back a step.  He began to turn away—and Poe felt like his heart was being pulled right out of his chest at the same time—but then, Ben stopped and went back to him, putting out his empty hand to grasp Poe’s elbow.

“Tonight,” he whispered.  “We’ll talk tonight.  Will you come to my chambers?”

Poe stared at him and only barely managed to nod in response.  He was acutely aware of the other guests still watching them, and he jerked his head in their direction.  _If they saw us leave together, God only knows what sort of gossip they’d start!_ Poe thought.  He wasn’t so concerned with his reputation as with Ben’s, and more than that, he didn’t want any of the royal family to hear from anywhere else that their son was having trysts with another man.

“I know,” Ben muttered in response to Poe’s gesture.  “Come to the tower in a few moments.  I’ll go on to my room now then come back down for you.  All right?”

“Yes.”  When Poe spoke, Ben gave him another, more hesitant smile, then squeezed Poe’s elbow before letting him go.  The prince turned away again, and this time, he did not look back as he left the throne room.

Poe hurried away in the opposite direction.  He wondered what their onlookers were saying, but they hadn’t seen anything untoward, only two men having an intense conversation that might very well just be another of their arguments.  When he finally reached the safety of his own room, Poe set his mask aside, along with the invitation the retainer had returned to him, then pulled off his boots so he could strip out of his breeches.

 _I’ll have another souvenir if I can’t get these clean,_ he thought, flushing as he scrubbed the inside of his pants, then his sticky abdomen, with a handkerchief.  _I should have thought of that before I ruined my best clothing. . . ._   Still, he wore a small smile, remembering just how it had happened, as he changed into his ordinary clothes.

When he was dressed, Poe hesitated before opening the door and slipping back into the hall.  Had enough time passed for him to go meet Ben?  What if he saw someone on his way to the tower and had to explain what he was doing wandering the castle at that late hour?  What if Ben had second thoughts and didn’t come to meet him at all?

Poe squelched his worries as best he could and prayed he could make it to their assignation unnoticed.

\--

To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

Poe reached the tower without meeting anyone on the way.  Most of the servants were probably cleaning up after the ball, he reasoned, and the guests would be preparing for bed or for clandestine encounters of their own.  Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when he crept unobserved through the arched doorway that led into the tower’s ground level.

The area was empty.  Poe looked at the rounded walls and the single wooden door set into them, wondering if that led to Ben’s chambers.  He hadn’t been in the tower in years, and he couldn’t remember if he’d ever known where the prince lived.  There were three upper levels too, though, accessed by a flight of stone stairs that curled upward along the walls.

_Is he even coming?_ Poe wondered as he continued to wait.  _It’s been a long time since the masquerade ended—shouldn’t he be here by now?  Maybe he doesn’t want to see me after all. . . ._

But then he heard footsteps on the steps over his head, and a moment later, Ben descended.  He had changed clothes too, into a loose tunic and leggings that were still nicer than Poe’s, and he looked pale and nervous.  He paused several steps up from the ground floor and looked down at the other man.

“Poe,” he murmured, and Poe’s heart raced.  He hadn’t felt nervous himself until that moment, but suddenly the reality of the situation sank in. _What am I doing here?_ he thought as he put a hand out to the clammy stone wall to steady himself.  _This can’t be real.  I can’t be going to his room with him, alone, in the middle of the night—even if it’s just to talk.  He’s always **hated** me.  He can’t—he can’t want me. . . ._

“Have you changed your mind?” Ben asked when Poe didn’t speak to him.  One of his large hands, now free of their gloves, rested on the wall too, and the other was clenched at his side.  Poe’s eyes darted back up to the prince’s face, and he was startled by the worry he saw there.

“No!” Poe assured him.  “No, I’m just. . . nervous,” he finally admitted.  He managed a little smile, and he felt better when he saw an answering one on Ben’s lips.

“So am I,” the prince said in nearly a whisper; then he held out the hand that had been at his side.  “Come on.  Usually no one comes by here at night, but there’s always a chance.”  Poe nodded and took two steps up before reaching up for Ben’s hand.  The prince’s long fingers closed over his, and they went up to the second floor hand-in-hand.

“This is where I stay,” Ben mumbled as they stepped off the stairs onto the landing of the second story.  Another single door lay across from them, and more stairs continued upward.

“What’s up there?” Poe asked, pointing.

“Unused rooms.”  Ben let Poe’s hand go so he could use both of his to open the heavy door.  “Where we’d put the captive princesses, if we had any.”  Ben looked back over his shoulder at him with such a serious expression, Poe dissolved into laughter.  He’d had no idea Ben could be _funny_.

“Yes, and where would you keep the dragon?” Poe chuckled.  Ben pushed the door open and went in, then stood holding it for Poe to enter too.

“You don’t think dragons aren’t real?”  That time, Poe wasn’t sure whether Ben was joking or not.

“I didn’t think magic was real either until. . . until you bespelled me,” Poe murmured.  He looked around at the small room they had entered while Ben closed and locked the door behind him.  Another set of lighter double doors across from them was open, and Poe could see a bed beyond them.  The room they were in was furnished with rich carpeting and two chairs that looked as if they’d be offended should anyone choose to sit in them.  The room was lit only by a candelabra with three candles, set on a small table by one of the chairs.

“Bespelling. . . that’s something else we’ll have to talk about,” Ben was saying.  He came to stand beside Poe and glanced down at him askance.  “Because for someone who doesn’t believe in magic, you’re certainly bewitching.”

“Ben. . . .”  Poe felt his face grow warm with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.  The comment sounded like something Kylo would have said, but not Ben, especially not with the nervous way he was eyeing Poe now.  Finally, Poe managed to say, “How many rooms do you have, anyway?  What is this one for?”

“It’s just an antechamber,” muttered Ben.  “It’s not _for_ anything.  But I sleep in here.”  He blew out the candles and went on into the room with the bed, and Poe followed.  This room was as elaborately decorated as the antechamber but much larger, at least four times as large as Poe’s own small room.  Poe’s attention was drawn to the bed; it was the size of the one Poe had recovered in, but far fancier, with four posters and a canopy.  Poe felt more ashamed than ever that Ben had seen where _he_ usually slept.

Ben was still mumbling, without looking directly at Poe.  “And there’s one more room, through there, where I dress and bathe.  I’m supposed to have attendants for that, but I make them leave—honestly, who wants someone to watch him take a _bath_?  It’s. . . .”  He trailed off when he realized Poe was now looking at him instead of at the bed.  “What?  You’re staring at me again.”

“You. . . this is all so strange to me,” Poe stammered.  In truth, he had been thinking about how much he would have enjoyed getting to be one of those attendants, but he was also amazed at the luxury the prince experienced as part of his daily life.  Ben swallowed, then nodded.

“I know,” he whispered.  “I’m. . . I hope I haven’t made a mistake.”  He turned and closed the doors to the antechamber, then stood with his hands resting against them.

“A mistake?”  Poe heard a tremor in his own voice and hated it.  “You mean me?”

“No, I mean. . . _me_.  I’m the mistake.”  Ben leaned his head against the doors too with a “clunk” sound and groaned, “I shouldn’t have brought you here.  I should have let you go, let you fly away, because now I’m going to drag you down instead.  I don’t have the right—I don’t have the _right_ to love you!”

“Ben, what _happened_ to you?” Poe breathed.  “What happened to make you think that no one should ever love you—and for how long have you believed it?”  He went to Ben and rested his hands on the taller man’s shoulders then leaned against his back with his cheek resting on Ben’s spine.

Ben shivered and mumbled, “You have. . . you have _honor_.  That pure heart.  I—no, not I, _Kylo_ seduced you.  But I orchestrated it all, I set the trap for you and hunted you down—and then when I kissed you, I got ensnared too.  I had to come back the next week, and then the next, because it was the only way to have you. . . even after you told me to let you go.  In the corridor, you said to let you go. . . .”

“Yes, I said that,” Poe growled into the soft fabric of Ben’s tunic stretched across his back, “and then I went back to my chamber and touched myself until I came saying _your_ name.”  Ben shuddered again and made a low, desperate noise against the door.  Poe basked in that sound and leaned up against him, rising on his toes so he could reach Ben’s ear to whisper, “And should you think that was the first time such a thing happened. . . I was having fantasies of you long before that first masquerade.  How pure can a knight’s heart be when he goes to his room at night and dreams of fucking his prince?”

“Oh God, _Poe,_ ” Ben choked.  He pushed off the door, nearly knocking Poe off balance, and turned to face the smaller man.  Ben’s dark eyes were wide as they stared down at him.  “Did you?  Did you _really_?”

Poe just nodded.  He wasn’t sure he could speak, anyhow, now that Ben was facing him and looking at him like that.  The prince laid both his hands under Poe’s jaws, tilting his head up, then leaned down and kissed him: a soft kiss, their first without the masks between them.  Poe parted his lips to let Ben push his tongue into his mouth, and lifted his own tongue to taste Ben at the same time.  When Ben drew back, slowly, Poe started to lean forward and follow him with his mouth, but then he lost his balance a second time and had to clutch Ben’s forearms to regain it.

“Poe,” Ben whispered as he dropped his hands to Poe’s shoulders and steadied him.  “You’re exhausted, aren’t you, darling?”

“No, I’m all right,” Poe argued, but Ben gave him a hint of the smirk Poe had seen so often in the past.

“Come look at yourself.”  He drew Poe over toward an intricately carved dresser, above which hung a mirror.  Poe looked at their reflections, himself with Ben slightly behind him.  Poe saw the dark circles under his own eyes and sighed.

“I do look awful,” he admitted.  Ben’s smirk grew as his reflection’s eyes moved over Poe’s face.

“Hardly awful.  Just tired.”  Ben’s eyes lifted to meet his own gaze in the mirror, and the smirk faded but also softened to a look of wonder.  “You look so small beside me,” Ben murmured.  He slid his hands down to embrace Poe from behind, pulling the other man to him, and buried his mouth in the curls of Poe’s hair.  Watching in the mirror, Poe saw Ben’s eyes close and his face constrict, almost as if he were in pain.

“Oh God, Poe,” Ben mumbled again, “ _Poe_. . . .”

“Shh,” Poe hissed.  He reached up and back to lay his hand along Ben’s arm, still watching their reflections.  The sight didn’t affect Poe the way it did Ben; it exhilarated Poe and filled him with a happiness the intensity of which he had never experienced before.  He felt dizzy again, and he wasn’t certain whether that was because of his happiness, his exhaustion, or both.

Finally, Ben lifted his head and shifted so that he could look down at Poe again as he whispered, “You need to go to bed, before you get sick again.  I can’t keep casting spells on you—it might be harmful to you, I don’t know.  And anyway, it makes me tired too.”

Frowning, Poe protested again, “No, I’m fine,” despite the dizziness.  His happiness gave way to a sense of near panic at the thought of having to leave Ben’s chamber and go back to his own, alone. . . like Ben might change his mind during the night and decide he didn’t want Poe, after all.  Poe kept stammering, “And we still have to. . . to talk.  About us.  About what happened.”

This time Ben was the one to shush him, “Shhh.  We will, after we rest a while.  I told you, I’m tired too.  Here, I’ll find something you can sleep in.”  He gently moved Poe out of the way and opened the dresser they’d been standing in front of.

“Oh,” Poe breathed.  _Together,_ he thought.  _He meant, go to bed together._   Aloud, he muttered, “All right.  I didn’t—didn’t sleep well last night.  I told you, my head. . . and we danced so long.”  Just as Ben turned around, holding some piece of clothing, Poe added with a smile he knew to be wicked, “And you made me come so hard.  I _am_ tired.”

Ben’s pale cheeks flushed a deep red, and he swallowed audibly.

“Don’t talk about it,” he breathed.  “You’ll make me want you again.  Here.”  He thrust the clothing he held at Poe.  “I’ll go change in the other room, where I can’t see you.”  He turned away as soon as Poe took the clothes and hurried into the room he said he bathed in.  As he shut the door between them, Poe heard him murmur, “Where you can’t see _me_.”

When he was alone, Poe unfolded the clothing Ben had given him: a long-sleeved, lightweight shirt made of white linen with long lace cuffs and more lace lining the neck.  Poe could remember Ben wearing it, or shirts like it, a few times in the past, usually under something heavier; when he brought the fabric to his face, Poe could smell Ben’s scent on it.

Poe laid the shirt on Ben’s bed so he could pull off his own tunic, which he folded and finally placed on a chair before taking up the shirt again.  It was made of finer linen than anything Poe had ever owned, and he felt almost guilty as he slipped it on over his head.  After tying over his clavicle the ribbons that would hold the shirt closed, he looked down at the creamy, delicate lace dusting his brown wrists and hands, then at the rest of his body.  The shirt was so large on Poe, its bottom hem hit the middle of his thighs, and he decided he should remove his breeches too to keep them from getting Ben’s pristine bed dirty.

Poe knelt to take off his boots then stood and shimmied out of his pants, leaving him wearing nothing but the prince’s shirt and the silver chain that still hung around his neck.  He still felt a touch guilty, but a bit excited, too, and he went over to the mirror to look at himself, with the shirt engulfing his small body.  He was still standing there when Ben returned.  The larger man paused in the doorway as Poe turned to look at him.  Ben was wearing a white tunic as well, but his nearly reached his knees.  When Poe’s eyes fell on the prince’s muscular calves below the hem, his breath came a little faster; he hadn’t seen Ben’s bare legs since they were children.

Finally, Poe hauled his eyes back up to Ben’s flustered face when the larger man moved toward the bed.  He tugged the sheets back without looking at Poe, then stepped aside.

“Go ahead,” Ben muttered.

“You get in first,” Poe countered.  Ben’s nervousness made _him_ nervous, and he felt almost like an intruder.  _I **should** have gone back to my own room,_ he thought while Ben shrugged and climbed up into the high bed.  But Poe changed his mind when he finally crept over and sat down on the edge of the mattress, where he immediately sank down by several inches.  It was even softer than the bed where he’d recuperated from his fall, and Poe was left wondering how Ben ever managed to get up in the mornings.

“I think I’d sleep all the time if I had a bed like this,” he murmured.  He tried an experimental little bounce then collapsed on his back, legs dangling over the edge without his feet reaching the ground.  The molding of the high ceiling above him was decorated with gilt paint, and a mural of clouds and golden stars lay directly overhead.  “I really do believe I’ve died and gone to Heaven this time.”

Ben leaned over from where he was sitting to look down into Poe’s face.  “Would that make you my angel?”  Poe felt himself blush again as he gazed up at the prince.

“I’m not used to you being so nice to me,” he whispered.

“I suppose I should apologize for that,” Ben returned, “but then, I’m not used to you being nice to _me_ either.  I still have a bruise from where you kicked me last week.”  For some reason, that struck Poe as funny, and he began to laugh, hard.

“I-I didn’t know my legs were—were long enough to reach you!” he snickered.  “And it serves you right anyway since you were making fun of me for being in love. . . in love with _you_.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”  Ben bent over him and pushed his arms underneath Poe’s back, then half-lifted and half-dragged the smaller man up to lie on the bed beside him.  As he tugged the bedclothes—made of linen every bit as fine as the shirt Poe now wore—up over them both, Ben said, “The night when you were hurt, and you asked me to stay with you. . . I could hardly believe it, that you wanted me there. . . that I would have the whole night to hold you.”  Ben leaned over to a stand near the bed and blew out the candles burning there, then lay down next to Poe.  “Before then, I’d never thought I would get to sleep beside you—and I certainly believed it would be the only chance I’d ever have.”

“Will you hold me again?” Poe murmured to him.  The room was so dark, he couldn’t see Ben at all, but he could feel the warmth from the other man’s body close to his.  Then Ben’s arms went around him and pulled Poe against his chest so that Poe was enveloped in the warmth and the scent of trees.

“Make your nest in my arms and sleep, little robin,” Ben whispered.

\--

When Poe woke up, the room was light.  He didn’t know where he was when he first opened his eyes, but the feeling of Ben’s body curled against his brought every memory of the previous night flooding back.  Poe drew in a shaky breath and raised his eyes toward the source of the light, over Ben’s shoulder.  It was an intricate stained glass window Poe hadn’t noticed before, when it was dark.  The window’s colored panes tinted the morning sunlight that filtered into the room, turning it a spectrum of colors.

_The whole night is past,_ Poe realized.  Ben was still sleeping, face pale and eyelashes standing out dark against his closed lids.  One arm was tucked under his head, but the other still rested over Poe’s back.  Poe smiled to see how peaceful—and, for once, content—the prince looked as he slept.  Poe wanted to stay there in Ben’s hold, but he also wondered what time it was, and if anyone had yet noticed that Poe wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

Moving as carefully as he could in the soft bedding, which seemed to be trying to suck him back down with every motion, Poe finally extracted himself and stood up.  He didn’t feel dizzy at all anymore, and his head wasn’t aching.  He looked around for a clock and finally spied a pocket watch on the nightstand at the opposite side of the bed, where the candles sat next to a carafe and glass.  Poe walked around the bed, marveling at the plush rug beneath his bare feet, to take up the watch and open its golden cover.  Its face only read just past seven o’clock, and Poe relaxed.

He closed the watch and set it back down carefully—it was so fancy, he felt like he might break it just by holding it—then turned to the window instead.  The colored bits of glass did not form any sort of picture, only an abstract scattering of red, green, blue, and yellow.  Poe looked at the patterns the light made on his hands and shirt, then back up at the window.

_So beautiful,_ he thought.  _What would it be like to awaken to this light every morning?  This light. . . and him._   Poe turned to look back at Ben and found the prince lying on his back, awake and watching him.

“Um, it’s morning,” Poe stammered.

“So it is.”  Ben sat up and, with a slight frown, tried to smooth down his hair.  “What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock.  Early.”  Poe took a step back toward the bed then stopped.  “I was afraid it was later, but I won’t be missed for a while yet.”

Ben leaned over to his nightstand to pour a glass of water from the carafe, and he drank from it then offered it to Poe.  Poe took it and drained the glass, surprised at how thirsty he was.  Ben didn’t say anything the whole time, just watched Poe with a look the knight couldn’t quite read.  When Poe set the glass aside, Ben followed Poe’s small hand with his eyes, then looked away.

“What about when you _are_ missed?” Ben finally asked, still not looking at Poe.  His deep voice was quiet, and he drew his knees up to his chest under the covers.  “Will you tell my mother that you were with me?”

Poe hadn’t wanted to have that discussion, not just then, but he supposed it had to be done.

“Not if you don’t want me to.  I’ll say I was ill in my room, or. . . if someone came to my room to look for me, I’ll think of another place,” Poe muttered.  He dropped his hands to the edge of the bed and looked at how foreign they seemed against the white of Ben’s sheets and the cuffs of his shirt.  “It’s not your mother you should be concerned about,” he added before Ben had a chance to reply.  “She knows what I feel for you—she asked me, and I couldn’t lie to her.  I told her I loved you.”

“When?”  The word came out in a gasp, and Poe cringed.  _He’s horrified,_ he thought.  _He didn’t want anyone to know. . . ._

“Days ago.  When I was stuck in bed, that afternoon.  She asked me if I loved you, and I had to tell her yes.”

“You couldn’t lie to her then,” Ben murmured, “but you’d lie to her today, if she asked you where you were?”

“Yes.  If. . . if that’s what you want.”  Poe tried to choose his words carefully, still looking not at the other man but at his own fingertip as it traced the weave of the bedlinen.  “But she told me, she thought you and I could be. . . could be happy together.  I don’t know what your father would say, and I know, to protect your reputation—no one else could know.  But with the queen, you wouldn’t have to be ashamed of me.”

“Is that what you think?  That I’m ashamed of you?”  Poe finally looked up to see Ben regarding him with an incredulous half-smile.  “Poe, I never said you had to lie for me.  I thought you were concerned with what she’d think of _you_.  But obviously, I didn’t need to be if you’ve already told her.  Let me guess, Rey’s in on it too?”

“Rey thinks it could never work between you and me,” Poe corrected him while still trying to comprehend what Ben was saying.  “But why does it matter what anyone thinks of me?  _You’re_ the prince.  I’m. . . I’m nobody.”

“God, you’re a fool, is what you are,” Ben muttered.  When Poe glared at him, the prince began to laugh, which didn’t help Poe’s disposition any.

“Maybe I should just leave now, before anyone has a _chance_ to miss me,” Poe grumbled, “if all you’re going to do is mock me.  As familiar as that feeling is, I’d rather not—”

“Poe!”  Ben interrupted him and rose up on his knees to clamber over to kneel in front of where Poe stood.  “Yes, I’m the prince—and damn my reputation, everyone already hates me anyway!  I called you a fool because you think you’re _nobody_?  You’re only the most beautiful man in the entire court—the entire _kingdom_ , and the queen’s most trusted knight.” He shook his head, still smiling.  “And yet you said you’re willing to lie to her, to besmirch your honor, to protect _me_. . . .”

“Well, I won’t do _anything_ for you if you keep calling me a fool,” Poe retorted, albeit weakly.

“All right, I’m sorry.”  Ben rolled his eyes but then looked down at Poe’s hands and covered them with one of his.  “I only. . . want you to be sure.  That’s what I knew we had to discuss, whether anyone could know.”  When he raised his eyes again to meet Poe’s, Ben whispered, “I don’t care who knows.  In fact, I wish I could tell the whole world that I’m yours.”

“You’re mine?” Poe asked while he felt an irrepressible smile forming on his face.  “Truly?”  As frustrating and awkward as conversation with Ben could be, he was also capable of saying the most perfect things imaginable.

“Truly,” Ben said.  His eyes flicked back and forth over Poe’s before he leaned forward to touch his lips to the knight’s.  Poe returned his kiss gently at first then with increasing passion, until he had to lift his hands to hold Ben’s head still under the force of his mouth.

“Anyone can know,” Poe groaned in between kisses.  “ _Everyone_ can know, I don’t care!  I just want you. . . .”  He felt Ben’s hands come up to clutch his sides as they kissed, and when Ben tugged him forward, Poe moved closer and kneeled on the bed with him.  After a moment, Ben’s mouth pulled away from Poe’s and began to trail wet caresses down his jaw to his neck instead.

“Mmn. . . .”  Ben pulled his head back enough to look Poe over, from his neck down to his exposed knees.  “You look so delicious in lace,” he whispered before planting more kisses on Poe’s neck as his hands dropped to squeeze the backs of Poe’s thighs through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“You keep—nngh—calling me that, ‘delicious,’” Poe panted with a shiver as Ben untied the ribbons at his throat by clamping his teeth on the end of one and pulling.

“Because I want to taste you,” Ben breathed.  Finished with the ribbons, he transferred his mouth to Poe’s collarbone and nipped at it.  “All over.”  He lifted his head again to look down into Poe’s eyes.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

Poe shook his head with something of a wondering smile, trying to fathom that the prince had desired him all the while they were rivals, fighting and one-upping one another.

“On your eighteenth birthday,” Ben murmured, “my mother held that banquet for you, and everyone said that now you were a man.”

“I remember that.”  Poe’s smile grew a little.  “And I remember you.  You refused to eat anything and just glared at me all night.  And you threw a roll at me when you thought no one was looking.  You mean to tell me, that was wanting me?  Is casting bread at someone a mating ritual in your family?”

“I threw the roll at you because you were teasing me,” Ben defended himself.  “Because I was younger, because I wouldn’t ‘be a man’ for almost two more years—and it made me so angry because. . . because I wanted to show you just how mature I was.”

“By throwing bread at me,” Poe repeated, but Ben wasn’t smiling.  Instead, his eyes were fixed on Poe, dilating slightly.

“Not mature _that_ way.  I heard what the other men were saying, low so my mother couldn’t hear—that you’d go find a woman that night and lie with her, because that’s what would _really_ make you a man.  It—it made me so _angry_ to think of you with somebody like that, and I didn’t know why, and then all of a sudden, I understood.”  Ben leaned forward, closer to Poe, to whisper almost directly in his ear.  “I wanted you to lie with _me_ , and I thought I’d know what to do, how to please you, even though you still thought of me as a child.  And then, when my mother saw me throwing food at you and sent me to bed, I came back here and lay in this bed and wondered who you were with and what she was doing to you.  And no matter how much I thought of you since then, how many times I made myself come with your name on my lips, it wasn’t enough.  I never stopped wanting you.”

“Ben,” Poe fairly panted, “do you want to know what I did that night, after the banquet ended?”

“Yes.  What did you do?” Ben hissed.

“I went back to my room, and I went to bed.  _Alone._ ”  Poe touched his lips to Ben’s cheek, just in front of his ear, so that he caressed the prince as he spoke.  “I didn’t lie with a woman—I _never_ have.  I’ve never _wanted_ to.  But you wanted me then?  Would you have deflowered me that night, Ben?” Poe murmured in a husky voice he hardly recognized as his own.  “Would you have let _me_ deflower _you_?”

“You still can.”  Ben’s words came just as breathlessly, almost in a moan.  He drew back, and when his eyes flicked up to meet Poe’s, they were burning.  “I’ve never been with anyone, man or woman.  Have you?”

Poe shook his head, slowly.  “No, I. . . was too afraid to try, with another man, I mean.  No one here ever talks about it, and I thought—I thought I was just strange for wanting it.  For wanting _you_ ,” he murmured as he pulled Ben to him and kissed his mouth with increasing ardor, speaking between caresses. “But I was sure—you would have—with _someone_ —you could order anyone to your bed. . . you’re the _prince_.”

“Nngh. . . .”  Ben gave a strangled moan and put his hands back on Poe’s thighs, then shifted them up to his ass to hold Poe tight against him as they kissed.  “I didn’t want someone I had to command to make love to me—I wanted _you_ , and I wanted you to come to me willingly.”  He had begun to grind his body against Poe’s, but the smaller man dropped his hands to Ben’s hips and gripped them to hold him still.

“Willingly?” Poe whispered.  He was smiling because he felt like he was being terribly wicked, and he _liked_ it.  “Is this willing enough for you?”  Still holding Ben motionless, Poe rubbed his groin against the larger man’s thigh in a slow, deliberate circle so Ben would feel how hard he’d gotten.

“Mmn, _Poe_ ,” whimpered Ben.  “Please. . . .”

“Please _what?_   What do you want?”  Poe slid one hand forward from Ben’s hip to stroke him through his tunic as he leaned forward and licked Ben’s ear before whispering in it, “Do you want me to—how did you put it— _make you a man_ , your highness?”

\--

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahah sorry for the, ahem, cliffhanger, but this chapter was getting long and I had to break it off somewhere :P


	9. Chapter 9

Ben answered Poe’s question by attacking the knight’s neck, kissing and biting it open-mouthed as he worked his way down to Poe’s shoulder.  After shoving the smaller man’s shirt off it, he caressed Poe’s bare shoulder while pushing into his hand and mumbling nearly incoherently.

“Poe, I want you, I want you so much!” Ben groaned against Poe’s skin, then sucked at his shoulder with almost painful force.  Ben trailed more kisses down Poe’s clavicle to his chest, spreading the neck of Poe’s shirt open as far as it would go as he knelt in front of his knight.

“My beautiful little robin,” Ben whispered, “my angel, I’ll do whatever you say—you can do anything you want to me.  Just please, let me taste you, let me _have_ you. . . .”

Poe struggled to say anything coherent in response.  The feel of Ben’s hands still gripping his ass and the prince’s ardent mouth on his skin, coupled with Ben’s complete submission to him, threated to drive all conscious thought completely out of Poe’s mind.  He put his hands into the prince’s hair and stroked the silky black strands back from his face.

“Ben,” he finally managed to pant, “Ben. . . show me what you would have done to me that night.  Prove you would have known how to please me!”

Ben exhaled in a faint moan and, with one motion, locked his arms around Poe and swept him down onto the bed on his back.  Poe’s cry of surprise became a whimper when Ben lay down on top of him, lowering his torso in between Poe’s spread thighs, and locked his mouth over one of Poe’s nipples to suck on it hard.

“Nngh, _Ben_!” Poe gasped.  He arched his spine and pushed his head back into one of the pillows as a sensation he’d never felt before radiated from his chest to his groin.  Poe’s hips thrust up against Ben’s stomach, all on their own, and he clutched at the prince’s upper arms.  Ben shifted to his other nipple, caressing it with his tongue until it stiffened, then sucked on it too before lifting his head to look down into Poe’s dazed eyes.

“I didn’t know it felt like _that_ ,” Poe breathed.  Ben’s lips twitched in an almost shy smile; then he licked them and bent his head to kiss Poe briefly.  Poe lifted his own head when Ben pulled back, trying to follow the prince’s mouth and extend the kiss, but Ben slid downward, out of his reach.  He pressed his lips to the top of Poe’s right thigh, just below the hem of his shirt, then pushed Poe’s leg up so that it was bent at the knee, foot flat on the rumpled bedclothes, with the shirt puddled between Poe’s thighs.

“You have the most perfect legs imaginable,” whispered Ben.  He put both hands around Poe’s leg above his knee, then slid them all the way up his thigh, contracting his fingers slightly into Poe’s flesh.  “And you probably _can’t_ imagine all the things I’ve dreamed of doing to them.”  Poe had never thought much about his legs in the past, but at that moment, they felt like the most desirable part of his entire body.  Ben wrapped his left arm around Poe’s bent leg and began to trail kisses up his inner thigh, making Poe’s breath come quicker and quicker the closer Ben’s mouth got to his groin.  At the same time, Ben stroked Poe’s other leg with his right hand, and after a few moments turned his head to caress that thigh instead.  Poe squirmed and rocked his hips up against nothing: he didn’t want Ben to stop his attentions to his legs, but he also was very, very hard.

“Ben, _please_ ,” Poe finally groaned.  “You’re—you’re driving me _crazy_.”

The prince’s reply was infuriatingly smug: “I know.”  When Ben returned his mouth to Poe’s inner thigh, Poe growled in frustration and reached down to tug his shirt up and take care of his need himself, but the prince smirked and slapped his hand away.

“Argh, you said—you said you’d do whatever I wanted,” Poe cried.  “You. . . you _liar_.”  Ben just laughed.

“Oh, but I _will_ do everything you want. . . I just didn’t say _when_ I would do it.”  He looked up into Poe’s wide, dilated eyes, and his grin softened into the most tender smile Poe had ever seen.  “Please, darling, trust me,” Ben murmured.  “I’ll give you everything you want, just please let me take my time with you.  I’ve wanted you for so long. . . .”  He bent his head suddenly over Poe’s legs, dropping his mouth to the top of his thigh to whisper fervently against it, “I love you so much.  Let me worship you.”

“Ben. . . .” Poe breathed.  He made himself lie back against the pillow and willed his hands to stay idle at his sides.  “Go on, my love—love me.”  
  
“Poe!”  Ben’s voice sounded choked, but Poe told himself it was only muffled against his thigh.  “You’ve never called me anything like that before. . . .”  He resumed his passionate kisses and dropped his mouth back down to Poe’s inner thigh.  He sucked on the skin over the tensed muscle until Poe was sure he’d left a bruise before relenting and instead licking the joint between Poe’s leg and body.  Poe gasped and whimpered Ben’s name at the sensation of the prince’s tongue tracing over his skin.

“I thought about getting you out of this shirt,” Ben muttered as he lifted his head and looked down at Poe’s partially-clothed body, “but I don’t believe I want to, not yet.  It just looks so _good_ on you.”  He brushed his hand against the fabric tented over Poe’s abdomen, drawing a sound that was almost a yelp from the knight, before moving his hand to Poe’s hip instead.

“Damn you,” Poe groaned as he writhed on the bed.  “I love you, but _damn_ you.”

“Now you know exactly how I’ve felt about you for all this time,” Ben informed him.  He pushed Poe’s shirt up to expose his hip and oblique, then began stroking the line of muscle with his fingertips.  Poe forced himself again to relax and appreciate Ben’s fingers on his skin; Poe’s arousal had heightened his sense of touch so that even there on his abdomen, the prince’s motions felt erotic.  Ben stroked the underside of Poe’s thigh with his free hand and began to kiss and bite at Poe’s hipbone, until Poe had to grip handfuls of the bedlinens to keep from touching himself—or maybe from grabbing Ben’s hair and forcing his mouth to where Poe really wanted it.

“Oh God, you’re cruel,” Poe whined in between his harsh breaths.  “Utterly merciless.  When you become king, your—your subjects will cower in terror, I tell you.”

“Mmph. . . you’re the only subject I’m interested in,” Ben mumbled against Poe’s skin.  He sat up, leaning forward and bracing himself on his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Poe’s hips, and looked down at the trembling knight.  “Well, my proud little robin, have I proven myself yet?  Do you think I’ll be able to please you?”

“Yes!” Poe gasped.  “Please, don’t make me wait any longer!”  Ben smiled in triumph—although the smile _did_ look a bit strained—and finally tugged the hem of Poe’s shirt up to his chest.  Poe bit his lip when he felt cool air caress his heated skin, and he watched Ben nervously.  It wasn’t the first time Poe had been exposed to another man—years of camping, swimming and bathing in lakes and rivers among the other knights, had seen to that—but Poe hadn’t been embarrassed then.   That kind of casual, everyday nakedness had a very different quality from this: letting his lover uncover him, offering himself up for judgment.  But Ben seemed to judge him worthy, considering how his eyes traveled over Poe’s body and how his hand trembled when he finally reached for Poe and began to stroke him slowly.  Poe whimpered and arched up into his touch.

“What do you want me to do to you?” Ben whispered as his eyes flicked from his hand to Poe’s face, then back.  The lust in the prince’s expression was now tempered with some hesitation, as if he weren’t quite sure _what_ to do with Poe now that he finally had him.

“Put your mouth on me,” Poe told him, blushing slightly but too turned on to be very ashamed.

“My mouth?”  Ben flushed too, as if he hadn’t thought of it before.  Somehow, that made Poe feel bolder, and he rocked his hips up suggestively.

“Yes, take me in your mouth,” he hissed, “and suck me!”

Ben obeyed him without further hesitation.  Poe’s imagination hadn’t done justice to the way the prince’s hot, wet mouth actually felt, and all Poe could think of was getting more of it.  He thrust up into Ben’s mouth, nearly choking the larger man until Ben held Poe’s hips down on the bed.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t—oh _God_!” Poe began to apologize, until Ben lowered his head and sucked on him, hard.  Poe clenched his fists back into the sheet and willed himself not to thrust up again, out of concern that he would hurt Ben.  Finally, Poe was able to let go and shift his hand to Ben’s head, stroking his hair as he watched what the prince was doing to him.  As submissive an act as it was, Poe realized that Ben also had complete control of him in that moment: Poe would do anything the prince asked as long as it meant the glorious pleasure would last. . . not that it was going to last very long.

“Ben,” Poe managed to gasp, “I’m. . . I’m close.”  Ben lifted his head, breathless as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up at Poe.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, n-no, just— _nnnngh!_ ”  Poe groaned through gritted teeth when Ben abruptly engulfed him again.  He felt like his whole body clenched so tightly, it almost hurt; then he was coming harder than he ever had before in his life.  Poe collapsed as he finished, staring at the mural on Ben’s ceiling with his mouth open as he tried to catch his breath.

“Poe. . . .”  Ben sat up and leaned over him, wiping his mouth again then reaching down to stroke Poe’s dark curls back from his sweaty forehead.  “Are you all right?”  When Poe nodded dazedly, Ben smiled smugly.  “And did I please you?  Was it worth waiting for?”

“Oh yes. . . and you certainly seem pleased with _yourself_ , too, smirking at me like that.”  Poe smiled back anyway as he lifted a hand to touch Ben’s cheek and tug him closer.  “Kiss me again. . . .”

“Are you sure?  After what I just did?”  Ben blushed slightly, but Poe just grinned and pulled the prince’s mouth down to his.  Ben slid his arms under Poe as they kissed, then trapped Poe’s thigh between his and thrust against it.

“Mmmn,” Poe moaned into his lover’s mouth and put his own arms around Ben to grasp his ass through his tunic.  Ben gave a low, startled cry, then started kissing Poe all the harder.  After a moment, he locked his arms around Poe and rolled over onto his back, pulling Poe up on top of him.  When Poe finally sat up, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, Ben grasped the hem of Poe’s shirt and pushed it up to his chest.

“Now you can take this off,” Ben breathed.  “I want to look at all of you.”

“On one condition,” Poe declared, “that you take yours off too.  I haven’t seen _any_ of you yet!”

Ben’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, but then he nodded.  Poe stripped his own shirt off in one motion, leaving him wearing nothing but the silver chain around his neck, but he paused when Ben spread his hands over his chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ben murmured as he gazed up at the knight.  He slid his hands up to Poe’s shoulders and stroked the necklace with his thumbs, but his eyes never left Poe’s face.

“So are you,” whispered Poe.  “Let me see you, please.”  Ben finally dropped his hands and let Poe rise up on his knees so he could push Ben’s tunic up his thighs.  Poe didn’t have the patience to tease his lover as Ben had him, and he shoved the tunic all the way up to Ben’s chest.  When he let it go, Ben set his jaw and raised up on one arm so he could pull the tunic off up over his head, but Poe hardly noticed; instead, he was focused on the body he could finally see after weeks of fantasizing.

“Oh, Ben,” Poe hissed as he leaned down to caress him without any hesitation.  Ben whimpered as he collapsed on his back and let Poe kiss him from his groin up to his chest, then back down again.  “I love you,” Poe mumbled against his pale skin.  “I love you so much, my prince. . . .”

“Aah, Poe. . . .”  Ben turned his head on the pillow to watch as Poe kissed and stroked him.  He thrust up into Poe’s hand then asked in a low voice, “Do—do you remember when you said my hair smelled good, and I told you I put oil in it?”

“Uh, yes. . . .”  Poe wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything they were doing at the moment, until Ben continued in an even lower mumble.

“It. . . would feel really good if you used it to stroke me.”

“And how would you know that?” Poe teased him, making Ben’s blush deepen.  “All right, where is it?”  Ben gestured weakly at the bedside table to the right.

“In there. . . .”

“You keep it by your bed?  You must be very particular about conditioning your hair.”  Poe grinned outright as he sat up and leaned over to find a small, ornate bottle in the drawer.  When he uncorked it, he smelled the same scent he loved in Ben’s hair, only stronger.  Poe drizzled some of the oil on his hand then set the bottle on the table before stroking Ben again slowly.

“How’s that?” Poe asked, although he hardly needed to; the blissful expression on Ben’s face as he closed his eyes told him everything.

“Perfect,” the prince whispered.

“Imagine what everyone would say,” Poe murmured to him as he moved his hand up and down, sometimes pausing to tease Ben with his fingertips, “if they knew that you lay here at night, coating yourself in oil and pleasuring yourself while you think about your knight—not to mention what you’re letting him do to you now!”

“A-aah, Poe,” Ben moaned, “yes. . . I’d let you do anything to me, anything at all!  I’m at your mercy, my darling. . . .”

Poe was beginning to get aroused again just from what he was doing to his lover, and he straddled Ben’s hips to rub their bodies together.  No matter how much he’d teased Ben, the oil _did_ make the contact between them feel exquisite, and Poe groaned as he increased the speed of his thrusts.  After a few seconds, Ben reached up to grasp Poe’s hips and hold him still; when Poe gave him a questioning look, the prince flashed him a quick, embarrassed smile.

“I’m going to come if you keep doing that, and I don’t want to, not yet,” Ben muttered.  He tugged Poe forward a couple inches then began to thrust up against his ass more slowly.  “A-ah, just. . . just sit there and let me look at you.”  Poe’s face warmed as Ben stared up at him with an expression of mixed lust and adoration, but Poe found that he enjoyed being admired, too.  Everything was so different from all the times he’d fantasized about the prince: Ben looking at him with love instead of resentment, the two of them pleasing each other willingly instead of grudgingly.

_I never thought he could love me,_ Poe realized as he braced himself on Ben’s chest and gazed down into the prince’s dark eyes.  _I never thought it would be all right that **I** loved **him**._

“Ben, I love you,” Poe whispered, suddenly needing to say it again.  He didn’t want to _stop_ saying it.

“I love you too, Poe.”  Ben lifted a hand from Poe’s hip to stroke the side of his face.  He was still rubbing slowly against the smaller man’s ass, and it felt good, better than Poe had ever expected.  That was another difference: Poe had always imagined being the one to top Ben, but now. . . .

“Ben, I want you to fuck me.”  Poe said it quickly, before he could lose his nerve.  Ben froze for a second as he stared at Poe, eyes widening; then his hips twitched up in what felt like an involuntary thrust.

“Oh God, Poe, are you—are you _sure_?”  The almost delirious look on his face made Poe smirk, and he relaxed a little.

“Don’t you want to?” he purred as he shifted his hips slightly to rub back against the prince.  “Wasn’t that what you were thinking of while you were throwing rolls at me?”

“Y-you’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Ben muttered in a distracted way.  He had dropped his hand from Poe’s face and was rubbing both up and down the smaller man’s tan thighs as they gripped his own pale abdomen.  “I don’t want to hurt you, but—but hell, _yes_ , I want to fuck you!” the prince finally gasped.  “I wanted to that night you kicked me—”  Poe tactfully didn’t interrupt to point out that Ben had kicked him first.  “—when I had you up against the wall in the corridor.  The way you were looking up at me, and the way your hair and skin felt in my hand—oh God, I wanted you so badly.  And then last night on the balcony, feeling you in my lap. . . .”  Ben’s hands clenched over Poe’s thighs, and he started thrusting slowly up against the smaller man again as his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.  “When I left you to undress, I knew I couldn’t watch you and keep my hands off you.  Then I came back in here and saw your—your tight little body under my shirt, and Poe—if you hadn’t been about to drop dead from exhaustion. . . !  I’m ashamed of all the things I’ve wanted to do to you!”

“Don’t be ashamed,” Poe said softly.  He stroked Ben’s hair back from his face, and the prince turned his head to kiss Poe’s inner wrist, then his palm when Poe drew his hand to Ben’s lips.  “I want you, Ben, and I want to belong to you.”  Ben’s face constricted, and he closed his eyes tightly for a second, breathing hard, before he looked upward again.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated.

“You won’t,” Poe reassured him.  “Here. . . .”  He leaned over and grabbed the bottle of oil from the table.  “Hold out your hand.”  Ben obeyed him and watched as Poe drizzled oil into his palm; then Poe shoved the bottle back onto the table and whispered, “Use your fingers first.  That way it won’t hurt as much.”

Ben’s mouth quirked downward at the “as much” part, but he had already closed his hand and was coating his fingers with the oil, and he didn’t hesitate before reaching up to touch Poe as the knight had asked.  Poe drew in a nervous breath, but he forced himself to relax as Ben pushed a fingertip inside him.

“Like that?” Ben asked.  His voice was shaky due to cautiousness or lust or maybe both.

“Yes,” Poe hissed, then a second later added, “Keep going!” because it didn’t hurt, at least not yet—it felt _good_ , and it only felt better and better the longer Ben did it.  Poe braced himself with both hands spread on Ben’s chest and thrust back against his fingers, unable to stifle a low moan.

After a moment, Poe gasped, “Ben, please—I-I want you to fuck me, now!”  Ben didn’t need any further encouragement to pull his fingers free and grip Poe’s ass instead, then thrust up into the smaller man with what Poe later realized must have been impressive restraint.  That part _did_ hurt, a little, but when Poe winced, Ben froze.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.  Poe could feel the prince trembling under him, and he shook his head.

“N-no, just. . . just wait a minute. . . .”  Poe took another deep breath, exhaled, and was able to relax again as the burning sensation he felt eased.  Ben was still watching him, tips of his upper teeth sinking into his lower lip as he bit it, and Poe took great pleasure from seeing the look on his face when Poe abruptly lowered himself onto the prince’s lap in one swift motion.  Ben made a choked, incoherent noise, and he clutched Poe’s hips so tightly, his fingertips left little red marks on the knight’s flesh.

“How does it feel?” Poe teased him while he rocked his hips up slightly, then sank back down again.  Ben just groaned and thrust upwards, deeper into Poe’s small body.  Soon they were moving in a rhythm together, Ben obviously trying his best to let Poe control their pace.  Poe liked that—it gave him the sense of control he’d imagined in his fantasies—but after a while, he wanted more; remembering the desperation in Ben’s voice, Poe wanted to see just how much Ben desired him.  He leaned down closer to the prince and whispered to him, “You feel so good, Ben.  Do me harder, show me what you’ve wanted to do to me all these years!”

Ben groaned, “Is that what you want, my cocky little robin, to know how just how crazy you’ve driven me?”  When Poe nodded, Ben matched his teasing grin, then suddenly clasped his arms around Poe’s waist.  In one smooth motion, he flipped them both over, so that Poe was on his back with Ben kneeling behind him and his legs propped up on Ben’s shoulders, all without pulling out.  Ben leaned over him and started thrusting in him more rapidly as he folded his arms around Poe’s legs and held them tight against his torso.

“Is th-this what you want?” the prince hissed.

“Ben—yes—!” was all Poe could manage to say before he gave up on trying to speak.  With their change in position, what had before only felt good now had Poe writhing in ecstasy as each thrust hit something inside him that made him almost see stars.  He attempted to push back against Ben but finally gave that up too and just let Ben have complete control.  The prince’s eyes were closed at first as Poe gazed up at him, but then they opened to look down at the smaller man under him.

“Poe,” Ben breathed.  “You—you feel—”  He couldn’t finish, and Poe couldn’t speak either; they only gazed at each other while Poe thought that he’d had no idea it could ever feel this good, or that he could ever love someone this much.  Then Ben winced, almost as if he were in pain, and gasped, “Poe, I’m gonna come—!”  Poe could only nod, and he certainly didn’t expect to come again himself, until Ben reached down to stroke him quickly, in time to his thrusts.  Poe yelped, and his back arched as he climaxed the instant Ben touched him.  He was only dimly aware of Ben’s deep voice moaning something as he came too; then when it was over, Ben let go of his legs and almost collapsed on top of Poe between them, barely catching himself with his arms braced on either side of Poe’s chest.

“Poe. . . oh God, Poe. . . .”  Ben stared down at him a second before lowering himself to lie against Poe and kissing the smaller man’s mouth over and over.  Poe clutched Ben to him and returned the kisses, albeit dazedly.  Finally, they lay still, and Poe loved the feeling of the prince’s larger body on top of his and Ben’s weight pinning him down to the bed.  Ben’s head rested over Poe’s shoulder, on the pillow beside him.

“Are you all right?” Ben murmured.  “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m all right.  I, um. . . I think I’ll be a little sore, but it was worth it.”  Poe turned to lean his forehead against the prince’s and whispered, “And I want to do it again.  And again, and _again_.”

“Hah. . . we will.”  Ben slipped his fingers into Poe’s hair and stroked it.  “And—and I want you to fuck me too. . . .  You said you’d thought about it, right?”

Poe laughed weakly.  “Many times.  Many, _many_ times.”

“I want to know what it feels like,” Ben whispered to him.  “It must feel good—I’ve never heard you make those noises before.”

“Let’s be fair, I’ve never heard _you_ sound like that before either,” Poe pointed out, “but yes, it feels _wonderful_. . . strange, but wonderful.  Give me a little while to recover, and I’ll show you.”  He said the last sentence playfully, but he meant what he said about needing time to recover.  Fortunately, Ben seemed to need it just as much.

“I think we both need a bath,” Ben said, with a touch of embarrassment, after they’d lain in each other’s arms for a few moments.  “Would you. . . um, would you like to take one with me?”

“Together?”  Poe drew his head back enough to look into his lover’s eyes.  “In that other room you mentioned?”  When Ben nodded, Poe grinned.  “I would love that.  As long as you don’t have any of those attendants you mentioned before.”

“Ugh,” Ben grimaced.  “Believe me, I won’t.”  He gave Poe one more kiss, then sat up.  “I’ll go call someone to bring us some water.  But, uh. . . .”  He hesitated so long, Poe wondered what was wrong, until Ben blurted out, “I know what we said about _telling_ people, but I really don’t want some gossiping servant to be the one to inform my parents that I’m sleeping with you.”  He looked worried until Poe burst out laughing.

“Oh God, no!”  Poe shook his head on the pillow and grinned up at the prince.  “Don’t worry, I’ll be so quiet, no one will know I’m here.  As long as you have a place to hide me other than in your bed.”  Ben visibly relaxed and smiled back down at him.

“There’s a wardrobe in the other room that’s more than large enough for you to fit in.  I just. . . thought you might be upset, after what we said.”

“No, I agree with you,” Poe chuckled.  “I think you should tell the king and queen _before_ you show off the naked knight in your chambers.”  He started to sit up and winced at the soreness he felt for the first time.  “Ouch. . . .”

“No, don’t get up yet,” Ben urged him.  He stroked Poe’s hair back again and leaned over to kiss his forehead.  “Even after I summon the servants, it will take them some time to fetch the water.  We can hide you after you’ve, ah, recovered a little more.”

“All right,” Poe agreed.  He watched as Ben, blushing slightly under Poe’s gaze, got out of bed and went to the other room to dress.  When he returned on his way to the antechamber, Poe asked, “How do you, uh, ‘summon’ someone up here?  I know how you can yell, but I didn’t think even you were _that_ loud.”

“Oh. . . there’s a cord hanging from the ceiling in a corner of the antechamber.  If you pull it, a bell rings. . . well, somewhere.  There’s a whole system of them throughout the castle,” Ben explained.

“How odd that I don’t have one in my room to summon _my_ servants,” Poe joked, but he felt a little bad about it when Ben frowned slightly.  The prince didn’t seem to want to think about their differences in station, although Poe knew it wasn’t something they could simply forget.

“Ben. . . .”  Poe reached out a hand to him, and the prince took it, letting Poe draw him close enough for a kiss.  “I love you,” Poe whispered.

“I love you too, my darling.”  Ben kissed him a second time, a bit harder, then reluctantly pulled away.  “I’ll be back in a moment.”  Poe watched him go into the antechamber, pulling the doors to the bedroom closed behind him; then Poe turned his head to look at the stained glass window instead.  The sun had moved enough for its light not to shine directly into the window anymore, and Poe wondered how much time had passed.  He decided not to look at the watch though, not just yet.  He felt almost like he were dreaming, and he wanted to keep time and all the other trappings of reality at bay a little longer.

\--

To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Half an hour later, Poe was crammed into the wardrobe Ben had mentioned, along with far more clothes than Poe thought one man could possibly wear.  He didn’t really mind, since the clothes were soft and smelled like Ben’s scent, but it _was_ sort of awkward. . . especially because he could hear three of the castle’s male servants just on the other side of the wardrobe’s door.  They had come bearing hot water for the wooden tub kept in Ben’s bath and dressing room, and Ben had barely gotten Poe hidden in time.  Now Poe leaned against the side of the wardrobe, smirking as he listened to Ben insist that he could bathe himself, without the servants’ assistance.

“We go through this every day,” the prince was grumbling, just loud enough for Poe to hear.  “Just pour the water and _leave_.”

“But your highness—” one of the servants began to argue, but he was interrupted by a horrendous, and wet-sounding, crash.  Poe winced, wondering if Ben had gotten frustrated enough to hit something, but a second later, the servant’s yell proved otherwise.

“You useless boy—” the servant began again, and this time, he was interrupted by Ben.

“If you lay a finger on him, I’ll have your head!” the prince roared.  “Pour the water and _get out_ —and next time, either bring someone else, or _you_ carry the heavy bucket.”

Poe couldn’t resist cracking the wardrobe door and peeking out; besides two adult servants, he saw a young boy of 10 or 11, apparently the cause of a dropped bucket and rather a lot of water that had been spilled on the stone floor.  The child was biting his lip as if trying not to cry as he scooped up the bucket and poured what water remained into the tub; however, as the other two poured out their smaller loads, Ben put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed it.  The child gave him a quick look that held both gratitude and nervous awe.  Finally, the servants finished and departed from the room, the child trailing the adults and Ben stalking after them all to lock the outer doors to his chambers.

Poe slipped out of the wardrobe once Ben shut the door behind himself, and he went over to examine the tub.  The warm water inside smelled heavenly, and peering in, Poe realized this was due to dried lavender flowers and mint leaves in the bottom.  Ben had left out a sponge, apparently harvested from the ocean even though it was hundreds of miles away from the castle, and several towels.  It was all so luxurious, so much different from the court bath house Poe used—although that, of course, was far nicer than what the people outside of the court had to live with.

A moment later, Ben opened the door to the bath room and slipped back in.  Poe looked up and smiled at him.

“I was about to get in without you,” he teased, then paused when Ben just stood in the doorway, looking at him.  “What?  Is something wrong?”

“No, you just. . . look so wonderful,” Ben muttered, his cheeks flushing lightly.  “Your hair’s all curly from the steam, and. . . I think I should just give you that shirt.  Even if you eventually start wearing pants under it.”  Poe had put Ben’s shirt back on just in case the servants caught sight of him, and he glanced down at it with a little smile.

“Then you’d better come take it off me, before I ruin it in the bath,” Poe purred.  He leaned back against the side of the tub as Ben came over to him, skirting the spilled water on the floor.  Poe took the prince’s hands in his and looked up at him.

“But before we get too distracted and I forget,” Poe told him, “you really shouldn’t yell at your servants.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me,” Ben growled, lifting his chin obstinately and looking away.

“Apparently, you _do_ ,” argued Poe.  He let go of one of the prince’s hands and caught his chin instead, making Ben look down at him.  “ _But_.  I’ve never heard you be so kind before, as you were to the one who spilled the water.”

Ben hadn’t blushed when Poe scolded him, but he did now as he averted his eyes from Poe’s.

“I wasn’t being _kind_.  He was just a child, and the other two had made him carry the heaviest bucket,” Ben muttered.  “They shouldn’t have sent him at all—and then they dared to reprimand him for dropping it!  Idiots.”

“Ben, look at me,” Poe insisted.  When the prince finally turned his eyes back to Poe’s, the smaller man leaned up and kissed him lightly.  “You shouldn’t be ashamed of being kind,” Poe whispered as he drew back.  “I think I love you even more now than I did before.  The way you cared for me when I was hurt, I knew you did have some goodness in you, even more so when I realized you and Kylo really were the same person—you treated me like _I_ was royalty, not you.  I didn’t just want you after that; I fell in _love_ with you.  I want everyone to see what I love about you, not to see only the person you pretend to be.”

“Poe. . . .”  Ben fidgeted then pulled Poe against his chest with his cheek resting on the knight’s hair.  “No one else will ever see that, and if I tried—they’d only think I was weak.  If I do become king one day, weakness will be fatal to me.”

“You fool,” Poe mumbled against his shirt, “does anyone call your mother weak?  Or King Skywalker, or Rey?  And they _all_ show kindness.  They’re kind _and_ fair, and that’s what makes them strong.”

“Mmn.”  Ben sighed, his breath ruffling Poe’s hair, then touched his lips to the smaller man’s temple.  “I should appoint you as my advisor, Sir Dameron.  You’re wise beyond your years.”

Poe chuckled, “Knight _and_ advisor?  Are you going to make me the court jester too?”

“No.”  Ben laughed into his hair and trailed kisses down the side of Poe’s face; then he whispered, “Only my knight, my advisor, and my consort.”

This time Poe was the one to blush, deeply.  He had been trying not to wonder if they would really tell the king and queen, or anyone, of their affair; he had tried not to think about how he would feel once the excitement of being the prince’s secret lover wore off and Poe assumed the position of what amounted to a kept woman, except for the “woman” part.  But _consort_. . . that implied wedlock, _marriage._

_The king said Ben doesn’t **want** to marry,_ Poe thought.  _But did Ben only tell him that because he doesn’t want to marry a woman?  Would he really marry **me**?_   Poe’s racing mind couldn’t wrap itself around that idea; only a short time before, he couldn’t even conceive of Ben loving him, much less joining with him for life.  Poe decided he couldn’t let himself think about it, not yet, because it raised too much hope and longing in him.  Even if the prince could marry another man, even if he could marry someone who wasn’t from the nobility. . . .   _We haven’t even been together for a full day,_ Poe reminded himself.  _What if he changes his mind?_

“After all trouble they had bringing the water here, we should bathe before it gets cold,” Poe murmured against Ben’s chest.

“All right. . . .”  Ben’s hands dropped to Poe’s thighs to grasp the bottom hem of his shirt, then lifted it to strip it off while Poe held his arms up.  Ben drew in his breath when Poe’s tan body was exposed, and he slid his hands back down the smaller man’s sides.

“I still can’t believe you’re here with me like this,” the prince whispered.  He had put on a tunic and leggings when he dressed, and Poe slid his hands up under the shirt, against Ben’s bare stomach.

“Neither can I,” Poe admitted in a murmur.  “Can I undress you?”  Ben nodded and let Poe take his tunic off, although that meant he had to bend down for the shorter knight to get it off over his head.  Ben started to remove the leggings himself, but Poe pushed his hands away with a smirk and worked them down over Ben’s hipbones.  Poe crouched to slip the leggings to Ben’s ankles, then lifted each long, pale foot to pull them off.  On his way back up, Poe paused to nuzzle the front of Ben’s right thigh as he rubbed his calf.

“Mmm, I’ve dreamed of these beautiful legs for so long,” Poe mumbled against Ben’s skin.  He finally stood, with some reluctance, and smiled up at his lover.  “The next time we make love, I’m going to kiss every inch of them.”

“Get in the tub, now,” Ben muttered, “before you tempt me any further.”  He guided Poe to a small stepstool for getting over the side of the tub.  The wooden sides reached to Ben’s waist, and Poe struggled to get one short leg over even while standing on the stool.  Ben laughed then abruptly scooped Poe up in his arms, ascended the stool himself and deposited the smaller man directly into the water.  The tub was narrow, made for the bather to stand upright as he washed, and Poe had to press against the opposite side to make enough room for Ben to climb in after him.  Poe didn’t mind, though: he enjoyed the intimacy of the confined space, and the fact that they couldn’t sit down removed at least some of the temptation to start making love again right then and there.

The water hadn’t cooled as much as Poe feared it might, and the warmth relaxed his legs, which were still tired from dancing the night before.  In addition, the mint helped to clear the stuffiness he had begun to feel in his head.  When Poe brought his wet fingers up to massage his temples, Ben frowned.

“Is your head hurting again?”

“No, it was only a little congested.  It’s better now,” Poe told him.

“Let me do that. . . .”  Ben began to rub Poe’s temples in gentle but firm circular motions.  “Poe, I’m concerned for your health.  I want you to see the physician again.”

“It’s only been five days since I fell,” Poe argued, at the same time closing his eyes in pleasure at the prince’s touch.  “And I think I make it worse when I get upset or too tired.”

“Then promise me you’ll rest more.”  Ben wrapped his arms around Poe; as they embraced, he scooped up water in his hand and began to wash the knight’s curly hair.  “I know how stubborn and proud you are, but you have to take care of yourself.”

“As if you have room to admonish me for being stubborn and proud,” Poe chuckled, but Ben’s concern for him touched him all the same.  He gave a contented groan as Ben rubbed some soap into his hair then started working his fingers through it.  “Mmn, I promise, though.  I told Rey I would give her one last jousting lesson this afternoon, since she will leave to return home tomorrow. . . but other than that, I’ll rest today.”

“All right, just don’t overdo it this afternoon.”  Ben rinsed Poe’s hair, then looked down at him with concern.  “Although I should have gotten something for you to eat before now.  By the time we finish here, it will be late morning, and you haven’t eaten since dinner last night, have you?”

“Ben, you don’t have to worry about me,” Poe reassured him.  “We’ll get some food after this, all right?”  When Ben finally nodded, Poe grinned and picked up the sponge hanging from the side of the tub.  “Now, I know you said you thought it was silly for attendants to bathe you. . . but have you ever tried it?”  He dunked the sponge in the bath water then dragged it slowly over Ben’s breastbone.  “Perhaps you’ll find you enjoy it more than you thought you would.”

“If I’d known I could order the greatest knight in the realm to bathe me, I would have considered an attended bath long before now,” Ben whispered.  He let Poe wash him slowly, turning once Poe had scrubbed his chest for the knight to rub the sponge over his back too.  Then, at Poe’s direction, Ben crouched up to his shoulders in the water in front of him, his back to Poe, so the shorter man could wash his hair.  Even though the water was cooling, Poe took his time soaping the black tresses he’d admired so often.  When he was through, he coaxed Ben to tilt his head back into the water so Poe could rinse the soap from his hair.  As Poe did so with his fingertips, the prince looked up at him, upside down.    

“You were right—I _am_ enjoying this,” he said with a little smile.  “Are you?”

“Oh yes.”  Poe bent over him to kiss his mouth and murmured into it, “Now does the attendant have to bathe himself?  Or will the prince deign to wash his humble subject?”

“What do _you_ have to be humble about?”  Ben lifted his head and turned to face Poe at waist height, where he began to dust Poe’s stomach with kisses.  “I’d consider myself blessed to wash your beautiful body.”

“Ben. . . .”  Poe gave a choked whimper as the prince rubbed his legs up and down under the water.  “You’re. . . you’re going to get me excited again.  And you told me to _rest_.”

“I know,” Ben sighed.  He put his arms around Poe’s waist and gazed up at him with a look in his dark eyes that made Poe’s heart race.  Poe stroked his hair back from his face until Ben finally set about washing him with the sponge.  When Ben was done, Poe took the sponge back from him and finished bathing him as well.  The water was almost cold by the time they got out and hurriedly dried off so they could dress.  Poe put his own clothes back on, then picked up Ben’s shirt he had worn.

“Can I really keep it?” he asked the prince.

“On one condition—that you wear it for me again,” Ben told him with a little smile.  “Leave it here for now, and I’ll give it to you after it’s been washed.”  As Poe laid the shirt aside, Ben reached out to finger the chain around his neck.  “Will you. . . will you keep wearing this, too?”

“Yes,” Poe said in little more than a whisper.  “Ben, I don’t ever want to take it off.  I just wish I had something to give you.”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” Ben murmured.  He lifted his hand to draw his fingers through Poe’s damp hair.  “You’re enough.  But. . . there _is_ one thing I’d like to have, if. . . if you want to give it to me.”

“What?”  Poe tilted his head against the prince’s hand.

“Your mask.”  Ben’s eyes dropped as he mumbled, “I know it was probably expensive, so if you want to keep it, I understand.”

“No, I’ll give it to you.”  Poe reached up to touch Ben’s face, until Ben lifted his eyes again.  “I wasn’t planning to wear it again, and—and I’d like for you to have it.”  He smiled a little as he added, “To remind you of your little robin when I’m not with you.”

“As if I could forget you.”  Ben smiled too and turned his head to kiss Poe’s palm.  “But thank you.  I’ll treasure it.”

“I’ll bring it to you after I go to my room next,” Poe promised.  “But first are you still intending to feed me?  Because I’m starving.”

Ben laughed and took Poe’s hand to tug him toward the antechamber.  “I think we can find you some bread crumbs, little robin.”

They slipped out of the tower without being seen; then Poe went on down to the kitchens while Ben went to tell his servants—the adult ones only, Ben grumbled—to empty the tub in his room.  Poe was a favorite with the cooks, and by the time Ben joined him in one quiet corner, Poe had already procured more than enough food for both of them.  If either of the cooks or their assistants thought it odd that the knight and the prince were eating together—and getting along, no less—they didn’t let on.

Seated next to Poe at the rough-hewn wooden table in the corner, Ben held out a piece of buttered bread and smirked.

“Should I throw this at you, or just feed it to you?”

“Don’t throw it, because the butter would get everywhere,” Poe declared.  He leaned forward to take a bite, and Ben laughed as he chewed.

“Too late, the butter’s gotten everywhere already.”  He reached up to wipe butter off Poe’s lip with his thumb, then sucked on it.  Poe had never thought eating bread could be erotic, but watching Ben’s mouth around his thumb made Poe squirm all the same.

“Do. . . you want to come riding with Rey and me?” Poe asked after they’d eaten in silence for a moment.  He hesitated since he knew the prince and his cousin didn’t get along, but Poe also didn’t want Ben to feel left out.  At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.  _Maybe I just don’t want to be apart from him,_ Poe thought.

“Do you really want me to?”  Ben had been cutting up an apple, and he offered a slice to Poe without looking at him.

“Of course I do!” Poe said indignantly.  He took the piece of fruit and bit into it with a crunch before continuing around the mouthful, “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.  But you don’t have to.”

“I’ll come,” Ben muttered, “if you don’t think Rey will object.”  Before Poe could say anything further, Ben raised his head and pinned him with his dark eyes.  “Are we going to tell her?  Prove she was wrong when she said we couldn’t. . . couldn’t make it work?”

Poe smiled.  “I think she’ll know, no matter what, if she sees us together—hell, she’ll know at dinner tonight.  Rey’s perceptive, and anyway, I feel like every time I look at you, it. . . it must show all over my face.”

“What must show?”  Ben’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smile of his own.

“That I’m in love with you,” Poe murmured.  He ducked his head and fiddled with the apple core as he went on, “I don’t know how you didn’t know before.  I don’t know how _everyone_ doesn’t know.”

“Believe me, I didn’t know.  When you looked at me, I thought. . . I thought it was with disgust, maybe even pity.  That’s why I hated it so much.”  Ben put his hand under Poe’s chin and tilted his head up.  “I had no idea these beautiful eyes could ever look on me with _love_.”

“And _I_ had no idea you could be so charming,” Poe retorted.

Ben was decidedly less charming when they met Rey a bit later, in the same field as before.  The prince grumbled in monosyllables when his cousin spoke to him, and while Poe and Rey practiced jousting together, Ben dismounted his horse and let it graze while he sat in the grass and appeared to glare at the wildflowers growing around him.  Poe wasn’t sure whether Ben was putting on an act or genuinely annoyed, or maybe a little of both.

“I guess you two are getting along better,” Rey commented when she and Poe paused to rest.  “At least you’re not at each other’s throats today—and you arrived together too.  I have to admit, I’m surprised.”

“We’re working on it,” Poe finally told her after pondering what to say.  He wanted to tell her everything (or almost everything—he was pretty sure there were a few things Rey wouldn’t want to know), but he didn’t feel right doing so without Ben there.

After about an hour of riding, Poe’s head was beginning to swim.   _Dammit!_ he swore silently, hoping Rey wouldn’t notice him wobbling in his saddle as he reined his horse in.

“I’m going to rest for a while,” he called to the princess.  “Do you want to stop?”

“No!”  A few strands of Rey’s brown hair had come loose from where she’d knotted it on the back of her head, and they danced around her face as she shook her head.  “You go sit down, though.  You look exhausted—did you not get much sleep last night?”

The innocent question made Poe’s cheeks flare with heat, and he muttered, “I went to bed late and got up early.  And I. . . danced a lot last night.”

“Oh, then I take it you had a good time at the last masquerade,” Rey observed.  “I’m glad to hear it.  It was kind of fun.”

“You were there?” Poe asked as he climbed down from his horse and grasped his bridle.  “I didn’t see you.  Or. . . maybe I did, and I just didn’t know it _was_ you.”

“I saw you,” Rey told him while turning her own horse back toward the open stretch of field before the woods.

“You recognized me?” Poe chuckled.  “Am I really _that_ short?”

“No, I only recognized you because I saw you at the very end. . . at the unmasking.”  She gave him a prim little smirk over her shoulder before coaxing her horse into a run with her heels.

“Oh,” Poe mumbled after she was already gone.  He was still blushing as he led his horse back to where Ben sat fiddling with a pile of plucked flowers.  The prince looked up as Poe tethered his horse, dropped his practice lance, then sank into the grass next to him.

“Why is your face red?” Ben inquired with a suspicious glance out in Rey’s direction.

“She saw us last night, when we took off each other’s masks.”  Poe raked a hand through his tousled hair and gave the price an embarrassed smile.

“Oh,” Ben echoed Poe’s reaction.  “Well, we weren’t doing anything untoward.”

“No, not then.  Only just before, on the balcony.  And just after, when I went to your room.  And this morning—”

“ _Poe._ ”  Ben glared at him, then tempered the look with a little smile of his own.  “I don’t care if she knows.  But I’m glad she finally decided to ride on her own.  I was getting bored.”

“You could have ridden with us,” Poe retorted, but Ben held up his pile of flowers, cupped in both pale hands.

“I’ve been more productive than that.  Here.”  He spread his fingers to show that he’d braided the flower stems together into a chain.  He threaded the last two together to form a ring and ceremoniously placed it on Poe’s head.  Poe laughed, but at the same time, he was touched.

“How do I look?” he chuckled.

“Beautiful.”  Ben adjusted the flower crown amid Poe’s dark curls, then leaned in to kiss him, close-mouthed and gently.  “I love you,” he whispered before he sat back.

“Ben. . . .”  Poe looked up to make sure Rey was still occupied with her horse; then he tugged on Ben’s arm.  “Lie down.  I want to hold you.”

Ben obeyed, lying on his back with his head resting on Poe’s lap, on the knight’s crossed legs.  Poe stroked Ben’s hair out over his thighs, then leaned down to kiss him more deeply than before.

“I love you too,” he murmured into the prince’s mouth.  Ben’s hand went to the back of Poe’s neck and held him there while they kissed.  When Ben finally released him, Poe sat up and felt another wave of dizziness, which he tried to ignore.  He was relieved when Ben didn’t seem to notice it.

“Poe, will you spend the night with me again tonight?” the prince asked as Poe began to weave a few flowers together himself.

“If. . . if you think it would be all right,” Poe answered.  Ben’s brows furrowed as he looked up at the knight.

“Why wouldn’t it be?  Are you afraid someone will find out?”

“No, I told you, I don’t care so much about that.  Only. . . .”  Poe looked at the yellow and white flowers pinched between his tan fingers. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Take advantage of me?  What are you talking about?” Ben retorted.  He started to sit up, but Poe used one elbow to nudge him back down again.

“Just that—I don’t want you to think. . . .”  Poe sighed and wished he’d just said yes, and left it at that.  “Your chambers are so much nicer than mine, I feel guilty being with you there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” grumbled Ben.  He turned his head in Poe’s lap to look out at the field, sulking.  “If you don’t want to share my bed tonight, just say so.”

“Of course I want to!” Poe groaned.  Clutching his partial flower chain in one hand, he used the other to yank on a handful of Ben’s hair until the prince looked up at him again.  “Stop trying to be difficult.  I don’t feel like fighting with you right now.”

“You’re the one who’s being difficult.”  Still, Ben reached up to lay his hand alongside Poe’s cheek.  “Tell me why you feel guilty.  We. . . .”  He flushed slightly with embarrassment and muttered, “You know you don’t have to—have sex with me, don’t you?  I won’t lay a hand on you if you don’t want me to.  I just want to be with you.”

“Oh, Ben,” Poe half-groaned and half-laughed.  “That’s not why I feel guilty, not at all.”  He leaned over to kiss Ben’s forehead and whisper, “You can lay your hands on any part of me you please.  I want to make love to you, believe me—and not because I feel obligated to, like I’m your. . . your whore or something.”

“Don’t even say that,” Ben muttered.  He tilted his head back to kiss Poe’s mouth, then looked up at him again.  “But what is it that you feel guilty about?”

Poe sighed and forced himself to say it: “I’m a knight, Ben.  I’m not royal—I’m not even from the nobility.  I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove you love me by treating me like something I’m not.  I’d be just as happy with you in _my_ bed, or—or out in this field, or in the _root cellar_ if that’s the only place we could be together.”

“The root cellar?  Do you have some kind of depraved fetish you haven’t told me about?”  Ben spoke without a trace of a smile, which only made Poe laugh harder.  The prince reached up again to embrace Poe’s torso with one arm and cuddle him close as he persisted, “I’ve never found potatoes particularly erotic, but if you really want to lie in a bed of them, it can be arranged.”

“S-stop,” Poe snickered.  “All right, I get it, I’m being silly.”

“No, you. . . it’s not silly.  I want you to tell me if something bothers you,” Ben finally said.  “But my bed is larger than yours, and it’s more comfortable—that’s _all_.  You’re not taking advantage of me by preferring it, and I certainly prefer it myself.  I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to be with me tonight if you’d rather be alone.”

“I want to be with you,” Poe murmured.  “Always.”  He looked down into Ben’s eyes, and the prince blinked, hard.

“You can,” he whispered back.  “Every night, if that’s what you want.  I’ve spent far too long sleeping alone, longing for you.”

Before Poe could reply, he heard Rey’s horse approaching, and he glanced up to see her rein it in to dismount a few yards away.

“I’ll be there tonight,” he assured Ben, then resumed his flower-weaving before Rey joined them.  The princess was breathing hard as she sank down into the grass nearby.  Her eyes swept over her cousin lying down with his head in Poe’s lap, and Poe felt Ben tense. . . but then, he relaxed and closed his eyes with a flagrant deliberateness that made Poe want to laugh again.

“Lovely crown,” Rey observed, now glancing up at Poe’s head, then smirking at him again.  “Daisies suit you.”

“I think so,” Poe said.

\--

To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to call C-3P0 something other than “Threepio,” but I couldn’t think of anything, and I couldn’t just keep calling him “the retainer.” Er, just pretend he’s Italian?

By the time the three returned to the castle to dress for dinner, Poe had braided flowers into Ben’s hair, and Rey had made a crown of her own.  Poe wished he could just leave his on, but he removed it carefully when he returned to his own room and hung it up as Rey had instructed, so the flowers would dry rather than wither.  Away from Ben for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, Poe felt lonely as he washed his face, shaved, and changed his clothes.

 _I’m being ridiculous,_ Poe told himself, smiling all the same, _acting like I really am eighteen again!_

At dinner, Poe was seated beside Rey and across from Ben once more.  He tried to avoid looking at the prince. . . until Ben kicked him (though not so hard as before).  When Poe finally looked up to glare at him, Ben just smiled, and Poe could do nothing but smile back.  No one else seemed to notice them, with all attention focused on King Skywalker and Rey, who were to depart for their own kingdom the next morning.  The general mood at the table was cheerful, until the retainer came in near the end of the meal, bowing profusely to the queen and clearly fretting about something.  To be fair, he was _usually_ fretting about something, but he didn’t often interrupt meals to do so.

“I _am_ sorry, your majesty,” he gushed to Queen Organa, “but I _must_ have a word with you.”  When she nodded, he hurried to her side and bent to whisper something in her ear.  Poe had been watching the exchange with mild curiosity, but he began to feel alarm when he saw the expression on the queen’s face change to one of concern.

“Excuse me,” she said to the table as she rose.  “Luke, Rey, would you come with me, please?”  Rey glanced from her aunt to her father, who looked as confused as the princess did.  As Rey stood, she looked down at Poe and shrugged.  Father and daughter followed the queen and retainer out of the dining hall, leaving the rest of the bemused diners to finish the meal without them.  Ben and Poe’s eyes met across the table, and Ben shrugged too; he didn’t know any more than the rest of them.

Neither the queen nor the others returned, and the king was forced to dismiss the diners in the queen’s place at the end of the meal.  Poe was about to leave at Ben’s side—if no one had been paying attention to them before, they were certainly being ignored now—when the retainer rushed in, literally wringing his hands.

“Sir Dameron, would you please come to the throne room?” he murmured to Poe.  “And you, Prince Solo,” he added, making Ben glower at being an afterthought.  Poe would have found it funny under other circumstances, but he was getting too worried to think much of it.  The retainer summoned the king as well, and all three of them followed him to the throne room where Queen Organa was already waiting for them.

“Where’s Lu—er, King Skywalker?” the king asked.

“He and Rey have already gone.”  Queen Organa had been pacing in front of their thrones when the others arrived, but now she sat down and gestured for her husband to do the same, signaling that whatever she was about to discuss, it was official state business.  As the retainer noticed this as well and hurried over to his desk to record the proceedings in writing, Poe started to wonder why he himself was there at all.

“Er, your majesty, if this matter concerns the royal family, perhaps I should withdraw,” he suggested, even though Ben glared and hissed, “No!” at him.

“It concerns you as well, Sir Dameron,” the queen told him.  “When Threepio spoke to me at dinner, he informed me that—that he received word an enemy army was advancing on my brother’s kingdom.”

“What?!” both the king and prince cried at once.  Poe was as surprised as they, only more used to holding his tongue when the queen was speaking.

“A messenger had just arrived with the news, to implore them to return home immediately,” Queen Organa went on.  “They left right away—oh, and Princess Skywalker did ask me to say goodbye to you for her, Sir Dameron.”  Poe nodded and glanced at Ben with some apprehension, but for once, the prince didn’t seem jealous.

“ _What_ enemy army?” Ben growled.  “Who would dare threaten any of our family?”

“The same army that’s been conquering the smaller kingdoms to the east,” his mother said.  “The one whose commander is a lady knight.”

“A _woman_ has been defeating all those other armies?” King Solo marveled.  When his wife gave him a pointed look, he sighed, “You have to admit, female commanders _are_ rare.”

“I suppose,” the queen conceded.  “But regardless, yes, she must be a marvelous tactician, because she has gained control of several city-states.  Of course, their armies were nothing compared to my brother’s, but. . . it still troubles me that she would have the audacity to make threats against him.”

“Perhaps it’s not audacity at all,” Poe murmured, speaking for the first time in a while.  When the others looked at him, he explained, “If she’s as marvelous a tactician as everyone believes, she wouldn’t attack King Skywalker without believing she will succeed.  I hope his knights are well-prepared to defend him.”

“And that is why I asked you here, Sir Dameron,” said Queen Organa.  “For now, I have promised Luke to wait for a letter from him before I act—he is going to write as soon as he reaches home and assesses the situation for himself.  But if it’s as bad as the messenger claims, I want to send reinforcements to my brother, and with your expertise, I believe you should be the one to lead them.”  Poe was startled, but not as startled as Ben; Poe heard the prince’s gasp.  Before either of them could speak, the queen went on, “But of course, you are sworn to defend _our_ kingdom, not my brother’s, and you do not have to go if you don’t wish it.  The choice is yours.”

Poe knew the queen wanted him to go, and it was flattering: she trusted him to protect her beloved brother.  Yet he also knew she really _wouldn’t_ force him to lead the reinforcements, nor would she resent him if he chose not to.  Just a few days before, Poe would have gone gladly, but now. . . .

 _I don’t want to leave him,_ he thought.  He cast one sideways glance at Ben who was watching him with a mixture of apprehension and anger.  _But she’s right—I’d be of more use to King Skywalker than I would to anyone, staying here. . . him **and** Rey.  Rey might need me._   Poe wasn’t thinking so much of defending the princess as he was of continuing to train her: if the invading army had a woman at its head, why shouldn’t the defending army as well?  _Besides, Rey will probably make a better knight than I’ll **ever** be,_ Poe thought.

“Sir Dameron?” Queen Organa prompted him.  “What do you wish to do?  Or do you need some more time to make your decision?  Since we won’t act until I receive Luke’s letter, you can wait to give me your answer.”

All of them watched—including Threepio, who had stopped writing and waited with his quill poised—as Poe still hesitated, thinking of asking for the additional time, just to be sure.  But then something else occurred to him: _King Skywalker’s lands lie to the east of us.  If this army **should** succeed in overthrowing him, they’ll likely keep right on going to invade Queen Organa’s kingdom as well.  And if they do that, Ben will be in danger. . . ._

“No, your majesty, I don’t need more time,” Poe declared.  “I’ll be ready to go with the reinforcements when you give the order.”

“No!” Ben cried, before the queen could so much as acknowledge Poe’s agreement.  When Poe turned to face the prince, Ben was glowering at them all, fists clenched at his sides.  “This is ridiculous—my uncle has his _own_ knights, he doesn’t need ours too!”

“Ben, you know his army is weaker than ours,” his mother argued, “and he certainly doesn’t have anyone of Sir Dameron’s caliber to lead them.  This isn’t the time to be selfish.  If our positions were reversed, Luke wouldn’t hesitate to lend aid to me—and Rey wouldn’t try to prevent him.”

“Well, I’m not Rey!” growled Ben.  “As much as I know you’d rather have her for your daughter than me for your son, I’m not her!”  Queen Organa’s brow furrowed at his words, but he was looking at Poe, not her, as he continued.  “You _can’t_ go.”

“I can, I _must_ ,” Poe insisted.  “The queen is right.  They need me!”

“ _No!_ ” Ben shouted.  “I forbid it!  I forbid you to go!”  Now Poe’s brow was the one to furrow as he narrowed his eyes.  The prince was acting more like his old self, the one who exulted in flaunting his power over Poe, than the man who had held him so lovingly just that morning.

“You have no right to forbid me!” Poe yelled back.

“I have _every_ right—I’m the prince!”  Ben glowered down at Poe, and the knight glared right back, thinking, _How dare he give **that** as an excuse for trying to control me!_

“Yes, you’re the prince,” Poe spat up at him, “but your mother is the _queen_ , and her orders supersede yours!  If she wants me to go, I’ll go.”  Ben opened his mouth to retort, but his father interrupted him.

“Ben, for God’s sake, this animosity of yours against Sir Dameron has gone too far!” the king groaned.  “Why in the hell—”  The queen shot him a sharp glare, and he amended, “Why in the devil would you ‘forbid’ him to go to the aid of your own uncle?  Let me guess—too much praise and attention?  Are you really so jealous of Sir Dameron that you’ll risk your family’s safety by keeping him here?”

“You don’t know anything!” Ben nearly screamed as he turned away from Poe and toward his father.  “I’m not _jealous_ of him—I’m in love with him!”  The room remained completely silent for a few seconds afterward, and Poe stared at the stone floor, blushing hard and not daring to look at anyone else.  When Threepio finally muttered, “Oh dear, oh dear,” Ben snapped at him, “And don’t you _dare_ write that down!”

“You’re _what_?” King Solo finally managed to croak.  Poe reluctantly lifted his head to see both monarchs staring at their son, the queen not quite so stunned as the king yet still surprised.  Ben wasn’t blushing at all; in fact, he looked even paler than normal, and his jaw was clenched.

“I love Poe,” the prince repeated in a lower tone.  “He still isn’t well—from an injury _I_ caused—and if you send him off to fight, and something happens to him, I. . . I won’t—”  Ben stopped speaking and turned his head away from both his parents and Poe, to glower at the wall to his left.

The queen broke the ensuing silence: “Ben, you may retire to your chambers.  Sir Dameron is correct—my orders supersede yours, and anyhow, the issue of sending reinforcements to my brother does not concern you.”  The words sounded harsh, but Poe recognized her tone well enough: right then, Leia Organa had to be the queen, not Ben’s mother.  Her brother and niece’s safety might depend on it.

Ben, however, didn’t see things that way.

“ _What?_ ” he snarled, turning back to his mother.  “It doesn’t _concern_ me?  When—”

“Prince Solo, leave us!” Queen Organa ordered, gripping the arms of her throne with both small, ringed hands as if to keep herself from jumping out of it.  Ben’s chest heaved as he stared at her; then he turned and stormed away.  Poe wanted to call out to him, or even go after him, but he didn’t dare, as it would be an act of defiance against the queen.

 _If he was trying to control me, he had a reason for it—he’s afraid I’ll get hurt, or worse,_ Poe realized as he forced himself to stay where he was, without looking back to see the prince go.  _He’s trying to protect me._

“Sir Dameron,” the queen said to him in a tired voice once Ben was gone, “are you truly still unwell?”

“I. . . um, I do still feel dizzy occasionally, and my head aches. . . sometimes,” Poe admitted, once more finding it impossible to lie to her.  “But I believe I’m recovering.  I’m much better than I was, and it won’t interfere with the fulfillment of my duties.”

“Are you _sure_?” Queen Organa persisted.  “My concern is not only for your safety, but for that of the soldiers you command—and of Luke and Rey.  If I send you out there in compromised health, it could be worse than not sending you at all.”

“I’ll be fine,” Poe murmured.  He could tell from her frown that she wasn’t satisfied, but she let the matter drop and turned to her husband instead.  The king still looked somewhat dazed as he cast a glance back at his wife.

“Did you know about. . . about. . . .”  King Solo gestured at Poe and where Ben had stood, lifting one eyebrow in an incredulous expression Poe had seen often enough.  The queen’s mouth twitched, negating her frown, as she tried to suppress a laugh.

“No, I did not,” she replied with more dignity than Poe had expected her to manage.  “Would you like to question Sir Dameron on the matter?”

The king’s expression changed from incredulous to exasperated; he clearly did _not_ want to question Sir Dameron on the matter.  However, since it was obvious he wouldn’t get any information out of his wife, he turned his head to look down at Poe.

“Sir Dameron, did you. . . er. . . know about. . . this, and—dammit, speaking like this is ridiculous when it’s just us!  Poe, did you know my son’s in love with you?  Are _you_ in love with _him_?  And Threepio, _stop writing everything down!_   Christ!”  Both the queen and the retainer gave the king affronted stares, which he ignored.  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Poe had to struggle not to smile.

“He told me last night,” Poe replied.  “And—yes, I love him too. . . very much.”  He felt awkward saying so to Ben’s parents, but the act was also oddly freeing because it left Poe without anything to hide.

“Why don’t I ever know what’s going on around here?” the king muttered.

“Your majesty,” Poe added to the queen, “I still want to go to King Skywalker’s aid.  I know Ben—Prince Solo wants to protect me, but that doesn’t change _my_ duty to protect everyone.  And. . . if this army might really be a threat, I want to keep them from ever getting near him.  I can do that better there than here.”

“I understand, Sir Dameron—Poe,” Queen Organa said.  “We will still wait for word from Luke, but please be prepared to depart at short notice.  Tomorrow morning, I’d like for you to help me choose a company of men to go with you, and you may train them as you see fit.  I’m sure any of the soldiers under your command are already well-prepared for battle.”

“Yes, your majesty.”  Poe bowed, and the queen sighed and glanced again at her husband.

“What a way to punctuate our anniversary, with the possibility of a war, isn’t it?”

“Oddly appropriate, if you ask me,” King Solo muttered.

\--

Once dismissed by the queen, Poe returned to his room.  Queen Organa had given him a sympathetic look as he left the throne room, but he knew she had larger issues to worry about than her son’s love life.

 _So do I,_ Poe thought as he sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the flower crown hanging on his wall.  _I should be deciding which men to take with me. . . how to prepare them. . . how to help Rey lead her own army when we get there._   But all he could think of was Ben, and wanting to be with him.  Poe felt pressure in his head near each temple, and he rubbed them with his fingertips as he cursed his injury.

 _I probably **shouldn’t** be fighting in this condition, but I can’t refuse—Rey and her father need me.  The queen and Ben need me. . . but why **now**?_   So Poe cursed the lady knight too—not so much for threatening King Skywalker’s reign but for interrupting his own romance.  _But cursing my fate doesn’t help anything,_ he finally told himself.

“All right,” he said aloud as he stood up.  “Tomorrow—I’ll see the physician again. . . and I have to learn more about this commander.  Threepio’s the biggest gossip I know, so surely he can tell me about her.”  Poe felt better having made some plans—until he realized he was talking to himself.  _Maybe my head is worse off than I thought._

Poe wondered if he should wait a while longer before going to Ben’s room, or if he shouldn’t go at all.  _He was so angry. . . but I did promise I would go to him,_ he decided.  _If he doesn’t want me there, I’m sure he’ll tell me._   He picked up his mask as he left his room and stroked the feathers back with his thumb while he walked to the tower.  Ben wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Poe slowly climbed the stairs up to his chambers.  He hesitated outside the elaborately carved door, then took a deep breath and knocked so quietly, he wasn’t positive Ben would be able to hear him at all.  However, the door opened almost instantly, just enough for Ben to look out.

“Poe,” he breathed, then opened the door further to let the knight in.  Poe slipped inside, and Ben locked the door behind him.  “I thought you might not come.”

“I told you I would,” Poe muttered.  “Were you waiting for me?  You got to the door quickly. . . .”  Ben looked somewhat embarrassed and turned his head aside.

“I was just sitting in here.  Not _waiting_ on you.”

Poe eyed the stand-offish chairs he’d noticed before.  “I thought you said this room wasn’t _for_ anything.”

“I. . . I can still sit in it if I want to!” the prince protested.  “But come on in if you’re coming.”  He stalked into the bedroom, and Poe followed with a little smirk on his lips.

“I brought you my mask,” he said once Ben had shut them in his bedroom.  The prince finally turned back to face him as Poe held the feathered mask out to him.  Ben took it in both hands and gazed down at it.

“It really is beautiful,” Ben said after a moment.  “Why did you choose it, in particular?”

Poe shrugged.  “I wanted something unique.  And I like feathers.  I figured there would be a lot of peacocks and ravens and owls. . . and the swan masks looked rather feminine.  Anyhow, the twins were wearing them.”

“I don’t know, I think feminine things could look quite alluring on you,” murmured Ben, flicking his eyes up to look at Poe through his eyelashes.  “Especially since in. . . certain ways, it’s very clear that you’re a man.”  Poe blushed, hard, and this time he was the one to look away.

“I thought you were still angry at me,” he mumbled.

“I am,” Ben replied, “but that doesn’t make me want you any less.”  He sighed and smoothed the feathers of the mask, then hung it carefully on the mirror over his dresser.  “Thank you for giving me this.  It does remind me of you.  Especially now that you’ll be leaving.”

“Ben, I have to go,” Poe sighed.  “I would be failing everything I live by if I didn’t.  Your mother is right—I can’t be selfish.”

“She was talking to _me_ ,” Ben nearly growled.  “No one would think _you’re_ selfish, no matter what you did.”

“ _I_ would,” insisted Poe.  “I can help our own soldiers by going, and I can help Rey.”  Ben still wasn’t looking at him, so Poe turned away as well and went to lean against the bed.  “She already knows how to fight.  With a little more training, _she_ can lead her father’s soldiers against that other woman.”  He thought Ben might argue about that, but he only nodded.

“I’m sure she can,” he grumbled.  “So why do _you_ have to go?”  Poe folded his arms and looked down at the rug beneath his feet, trying to keep his temper.

“Because.  They need the best if they’re going to stop this invader—and we _have_ to stop her, before she gets here. . . before she gets to you.  Call me stubborn and arrogant and whatever else you want, but it won’t change the fact I _am_ the best.”

“I _know_ you’re the best.  No one has ever let me forget it,” Ben muttered.  “But what do you mean—before this knight gets to me?  Is there a threat to our kingdom too?”

“No, not yet.  But if she’s coming from the east and takes your uncle’s lands, we’ll be next in line.  I can’t let her get that far.”  Poe pressed the heels of his hands into the top of Ben’s mattress and murmured, “I can’t let her get to you.”  He didn’t realize Ben had moved until the prince was suddenly crouching in front of him.

“Poe. . . are you leaving to protect _me?_ ” Ben asked.

“Of course I am.”  When Poe sighed the answer, Ben looked up into Poe’s eyes and put his hands on the knight’s knees.

“But what about protecting _yourself_?  You’re hurt—if you have one of those dizzy spells or headaches on horseback, or—or while you’re fighting. . . Poe, you could be _killed_.  I’ve had your love for one day— _one day_.  If I lost you now. . . .”  Tears had rimmed the lower lids of Ben’s dark eyes as he spoke, and when he blinked hard, one spilled down his cheek.  Poe bit his lip and caught the tear on his finger.

“Ben, darling, I’m not going to be killed.  I _promise_.  I’d already decided to see the physician again tomorrow, and. . . well, I told you, I’m the best, right?”  Poe managed a smile, and the corner of Ben’s mouth twitched.  That was better than nothing, and Poe went on, “We’ll drive back the invaders, and then I’ll come home to you.”

“Do you _promise_?  You’ll come home to me?”

“I promise,” Poe repeated.  “You don’t need to keep me with you by controlling me and ordering me to stay—I’ll come back to you because I _love_ you.”  He took Ben’s face in both hands and bent to kiss his forehead.  “Please don’t tell me not to go, and please don’t be angry at me anymore.”

“Poe, I’m not trying to control you,” Ben whispered.  “I just. . . I want to protect you.  I don’t want to lose you.”  He slid his arms around Poe’s waist and laid his head in his lap, and Poe leaned over him to hold the prince close.

“You won’t.  You won’t lose me.”  Poe nuzzled Ben’s silky hair, then caressed the outside of his ear.  “And I won’t go right away—your mother wants to wait for that letter from King Skywalker before she does anything.”  Poe thought there was little chance that the letter would reveal all was well and that he didn’t need to go after all; that was too much to expect, and he saw no point in letting Ben get his hopes up.

“All right,” Ben sighed against Poe’s leg.  “As long as you see the physician tomorrow, I won’t argue anymore.  And I can’t stay angry at you—if you weren’t so altruistic, I wouldn’t love you so much.”  As Poe stroked his hair, Ben asked in a mumble, “After I left, did my parents say anything to you about. . . about us?”

“Heh, your father asked me if I’d known how you felt about me. . . and if I felt the same about you.”  He kissed Ben’s ear again and whispered, “I told him yes, to both questions.  After that, he let the matter drop.”

“That wasn’t how I intended to tell them, but at least now, it’s done.”  Ben lifted his head and finally managed a faint smile.  Poe laced his fingers into Ben’s hair and kissed him again, on the mouth this time.

“Come to bed with me,” he whispered against the prince’s lips.

“It’s early.  Are you tired?” Ben asked before returning Poe’s kiss.  “Is your head hurting?”

“A little, on both counts.  But I don’t want to go to sleep, not yet.”

“You’re not giving me a lot of confidence that you’ll take care of yourself,” Ben sighed, but when he sat back on his heels, his smile had grown.

“And how confident are you that I can command both your mother’s knights _and_ your uncle’s?” Poe asked.  Ben raised an eyebrow, still smiling.

“I’m not sure.  What are you getting at?”

“Just that I can show you how. . . authoritative I can be,” Poe purred.  “Remember what I told you last night, how I’d dreamed of making you doing whatever I say?”  The slight confusion on Ben’s face shifted into comprehension—and desire.

“You really think you can?” Ben hissed.  He raised up on his knees again and braced himself on the mattress with a hand on either side of Poe’s hips, leaning forward as he continued, “You think you can make the prince submit to you?  Very well then—let’s see you try.”

“And if I succeed?”  Ben’s proximity and the warmth of his body were making Poe’s pulse race, and the prince smirked as he heard Poe’s breath come a little faster.

“Then you’ll have my confidence, Sir Dameron,” Ben whispered, “so come on, show me how _commanding_ you can be.”

\--

To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

“Undress me,” Poe ordered in a low voice.  Ben reached up and brushed the sides of Poe’s neck with his fingertips, then dropped his hands to the vest Poe had worn to dinner.  The prince slipped it off, down Poe’s arms, then slowly unknotted the ties that held Poe’s shirt closed at his throat.  Poe tilted his head back slightly and lifted his arms as Ben grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it up.  Ben slid his hands over the length of each of Poe’s arms as he pushed the shirt sleeves up, and Poe relished his touch.

After Ben finally got Poe’s shirt off, he pressed his mouth to the knight’s neck and began to caress it while stroking Poe’s back with his spread hands.

“You haven’t finished undressing me,” Poe panted, though he pressed into Ben’s touch all the same.

“And to think that just this morning, you were calling _me_ merciless,” Ben breathed against his skin.  “You’re an absolute tyrant, expecting me to remove your clothes without touching your beautiful body.”  He kissed Poe’s clavicles then down his breastbone and stomach, making the smaller man shiver.  Finally Ben put his hands on Poe’s waist and began to tug down his pants; Poe arched his back and lifted his hips so Ben could pull them down to his thighs.

“You’re already excited,” Ben observed with a smug twist of his mouth.  “You like ordering me around that much?”  Poe tried to say something disparaging in return, but the words caught in his throat when Ben bent his head over Poe’s lap and nuzzled him.  The prince began to rub Poe’s thighs at the same time, sliding his hands under the knight’s legs to squeeze them.

“Ben!” Poe gasped, rocking his hips forward again involuntarily.  The gasp turned to a moan when Ben abruptly engulfed Poe with his mouth and sucked hard.

“Oh _God!_ ” Poe yelped, all semblance of control gone.  “D-damn you. . . .”  He leaned back, bracing himself on one hand, and stroked Ben’s hair with the other, pushing it back so he could see his lover’s face.  “Y-your. . . your technique is improving already.  Not that it didn’t—didn’t feel good before—ohh. . . .”

Ben made a sort of humming noise which only heightened Poe’s pleasure, and the knight shuddered.  After a moment, the prince lifted off of him and turned his head to wipe his mouth on his sleeve before looking up at Poe and smirking.

“I decided to do to _you_ what I’ve thought of you doing to _me_.”  He squeezed Poe’s thighs again before drawing his hands out from under them to start pulling off the knight’s boots.  “Then perhaps you’ll do it to me, too.”

Poe thought that he would do absolutely anything Ben wanted, but he only mumbled, “Perhaps.”  The prince finished removing Poe’s boots and slipped his pants the rest of the way off his legs, then sat back on his heels as he massaged Poe’s calves.  Poe looked down at his legs, which seemed both small and dark in Ben’s long, pale hands.

“Stand up,” Poe whispered.  Ben glanced up at him then obeyed.  The slight nervousness on his face heightened when Poe went on, “Now undress.”

“Completely?”

“Yes.  One thing at a time—while I watch you.”

Ben blushed deeply but didn’t protest.  He untied the scarf he was wearing and let it fall to the floor, then pulled his tunic up over his head.  Poe drew in a slow breath as his eyes moved over the prince’s bare chest and stomach.  He wanted to lay his hands on Ben’s pale skin, but he forced himself to wait. After dropping his tunic, Ben crouched down to take off his boots. . . slowly.  Realizing he was stalling, Poe smirked.

“Hurry up,” he commanded.  “I won’t have any dawdling from my men.”

“Oh, so I’m one of your men now?” Ben countered.  He glanced up at Poe through his hair as he removed his second boot.

“Yes—and the only one who gets to follow these particular orders,” Poe returned with a smirk.  “Now hurry up, I said.”  He eyed Ben’s still-clothed lower half until the prince got to his feet again with a sigh.

“As you wish, Sir Dameron,” Ben muttered.  He pushed his pants down past his hips, then off, in one quick motion.  As he stood in front of Poe with a somewhat sullen look on his face, the knight admired him.

“Come closer,” Poe breathed, leaning forward slightly.  Ben moved toward him, until Poe could reach him; then he grasped the prince’s hips with both hands and pulled him close.  “Ben,” he mumbled against his lover’s stomach, “you’re so gorgeous.  I want you. . . .”  When he brushed kisses down the prince’s abdomen, Ben shuddered and grasped Poe’s shoulders to steady himself.

“I’m yours,” he groaned through clenched teeth.  “Oh God, Poe, I’d do anything for you.”

Poe drew his legs up under him to kneel on the bed, then shifted backward and tugged on Ben’s hips.

“Lie down.”  As Ben obeyed, Poe turned to lie parallel to him but in the other direction so he could lean down to caress Ben’s thighs.  Ben nearly whimpered as he parted them, letting Poe slide his hands between and under the prince’s muscular legs.

“I want you to use your mouth on me again,” Poe instructed him in between kisses and nips to Ben’s thighs, “but don’t make me come, not yet.”  Poe felt utterly depraved and practically treasonous—who was he to order the prince to do _anything_ , much less to pleasure him in such a degrading way?  On the other hand, said prince certainly wasn’t protesting.  He wrapped an arm over Poe’s waist and drew him close before beginning to suck on him firmly.  Poe twitched in his mouth and gasped, “I-I said _not_ to make me come!”  Ben just laughed around him.

Poe tried to distance himself from the pleasure Ben’s mouth was giving him, enough to concentrate on doing the same for his lover.  It was more difficult than he had expected, not least because Ben was. . . well-endowed, but the moan of pleasure Poe’s mouth elicited encouraged him.  Soon, despite Poe’s instructions, Ben quit sucking him and raised his head to watch what Poe was doing instead—and Poe realized he _enjoyed_ being watched, so much that he didn’t bother to demand that Ben resume pleasing him.  Poe felt Ben’s fingers stroking through the curls of his hair and pressing gently on his head, encouraging him.

“Please, more,” Ben urged in a hoarse whisper, “Poe. . . you look so _good_ doing that to me!”  He twitched his hips upward, thrusting a little into Poe’s mouth and nearly making him gag, but Poe decided it was worth some discomfort to hear the adoration in Ben’s voice.  After only a few more moments, Ben spoke again in a near gasp, “Poe, I’m—I’m close.  Please. . . don’t stop, let me come in your pretty mouth!”

Poe’s face flared with heat to hear the prince say something like that to him, but he was more aroused than embarrassed, and he hummed his acquiescence.  The vibration of his mouth was enough to make Ben climax instantly, and he cried Poe’s name as he shuddered under the smaller man.  When Ben finally finished, Poe lifted his head, breathing heavily, and looked up at his lover.  The prince was staring at him, dark eyes still dilated with lust.

“Oh God, Poe, I can’t believe that you—you let me do that to you,” Ben breathed.

“Why not?” Poe teased him.  “I let you do worse to me this morning.”

“I-I suppose you did,” Ben stammered; then he appeared to remember for the first time that he had been supposed to reciprocate.  He turned his head to nuzzle Poe’s groin and murmur, “Do you want me to make you come now?”

It took all of Poe’s willpower to say, “No,” and sit up.  Ben actually looked disappointed until Poe smirked down at him and stroked his long hair back from his face.  “Not with your mouth, at least,” Poe continued.  He leaned down to kiss Ben’s temple then whisper in his ear, “Do you still want me to fuck you, my prince?”

“Yes,” Ben groaned.  “Please, Poe. . . .”  He turned his head back on the pillow to look up into Poe’s eyes.  “I want to belong to you.”

“Ben. . . .”  Poe bent down again to kiss the prince’s mouth then reached for Ben’s hair oil with a grin.  “Stay on your back—it felt the best like that.  You’ll have to lift your legs, though.”

“All right. . . .”  Once Poe had moved to kneel between Ben’s thighs, the prince let the smaller man push his legs up, almost to his chest.  Seeing the prince in such a submissive, vulnerable position nearly drove Poe mad with desire, and his hand shook as he dipped his fingers in the oil.

“I’ve dreamed so many times of taking you like this,” Poe murmured.  At the same time, he began to finger Ben, slowly and using only his middle finger at first.  “Your long legs wrapped around my waist while you begged me for it. . . pleading for your knight, your _servant_ to use you like a woman!”

“God, Poe, _yes_ ,” moaned Ben, arching his back in an attempt to impale himself deeper on Poe’s finger.  He had started to get hard again as Poe spoke, and he came fully erect when Poe thrust two fingers into him at once.  “Please, do it, fuck me!”

“I thought _I_ was the one in command this time,” Poe chuckled, although there was a hint of desperation in his laugh.  He wanted Ben right then and there, but he also didn’t want to hurt his lover by taking him too quickly—no matter how ready Ben seemed to be.  Still, Poe added a third finger sooner than planned, and Ben only kept demanding more.

“Now, please do it now!” he begged.  Poe couldn’t stand to deny him any longer, and he withdrew his fingers and coaxed Ben to rest his thighs on Poe’s hips.  Poe rubbed himself against Ben, then gritted his teeth and thrust into him, harder than he’d intended.  Ben cried out, and Poe was about to pull back, already gasping an apology, when the prince’s legs locked around his waist and held him in place.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Ben hissed as he ground back against Poe.  “Give it to me!”  Poe didn’t have the will to protest, and his body seemed to move on its own anyway.  As his hips rocked forward, greater pleasure than he thought possible this side of Paradise coursed through him.

“Harder!” Ben demanded, and Poe eagerly complied.  He heard himself groaning Ben’s name as if from a distance, but his other senses were mostly overshadowed by what he was feeling.  He took Ben far harder than the prince had taken him, and Ben loved it, nearly screaming in ecstasy every time Poe thrust into him.  Later, Poe realized how fortunate it was that Ben’s bedroom was in the isolated tower, since his cries could probably be heard rooms away.

When Poe felt himself close to climaxing, he began to stroke Ben with his hand, wanting his lover to come with him.  He glanced at Ben’s face, but his eyes were held there when they met the prince’s.  Far from the resentful look Poe had always imagined in his fantasies, Ben was looking at him with both adoration and wonder, as if Poe were a magical creature he couldn’t quite comprehend.  Poe leaned over him as far as he could, wishing he could kiss Ben at that moment, but neither of them were quite flexible enough to manage it.

Instead, Poe groaned, “Come for me!” as he pumped Ben rapidly in time to his thrusts.  “I want to—to see you come!”  He drove into the prince as hard as he could, and Ben gave a choked cry and arched his back again.  A second later, he finally climaxed, and the shuddering and tensing of his body made Poe start to come as well.  Ben finished first and collapsed with his head tilted back and eyes closed, panting, as Poe kept thrusting a few more times.  When he was done, he pulled back slowly and let Ben’s legs drop to the bed.  Poe leaned over him, lowering his body down on top of Ben’s, and stroked the prince’s sweaty hair back from his face.  Ben opened his eyes and looked up at Poe with his lips parted, still breathing hard.

“Poe,” he whispered, so faintly as to be nearly inaudible.  “You. . . you’re incredible.”  His lips quirked upward in a somewhat dazed smile.  Poe laughed and dropped his head to rest on Ben’s shoulder as the prince put his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“I thought maybe I hurt you,” Poe mumbled.

“It. . . it hurt, at first, but I loved it,” Ben confessed.  He rubbed Poe’s back with one hand as he held the smaller man against him with the other arm.  “I can’t exactly explain _how_ , but it hurt in a good way—and then, feeling you taking me so hard, knowing I could make you want me like that. . . .”  He bent his neck to kiss the top of Poe’s head, pressing his lips to the knight’s dark curls.  “I was thinking of what you said, how you’d fantasized about it, and—and all I wanted was to feel you ravish me like that.”

“And did I satisfy you?” asked Poe.  He had a lilt to his voice, but he truly wanted to know.

“What do you think?” Ben mumbled into his hair.

“Tell me,” Poe insisted.  He raised himself up on one arm to look down at the prince, who gazed back with a softer look than usual in his dark eyes.

“Yes, my little robin, you satisfied me,” he said, “like no one else ever could.  You made me yours. . . my body, anyway,” Ben added with a chuckle before he sobered and murmured, “My heart already belonged to you.”  He moved his hand from Poe’s back to the side of his face, slipping his fingertips into Poe’s hair with his palm against the knight’s cheek.  “Poe. . . no matter what happens to either of us, I’ll _always_ be yours.  I couldn’t love anyone else the way I love you.”

“Neither could I,” Poe whispered.  “Ben, I won’t _let_ anything happen to you, I swear.  I’ll defend you with my life.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”  Ben put his other hand to Poe’s head and drew him down to kiss him over and over.  “Poe, please don’t go, don’t leave me!”

“You said you wouldn’t argue with me anymore,” Poe protested, even as he returned the prince’s kisses.  “I won’t get myself killed—you have to have more faith in me than that!”  When he lifted his head, he was shocked to see tears spilling from Ben’s eyes.  Poe murmured, “Ben, don’t, please,” and began to kiss the tears from where they ran over the prince’s temples.  “I’ll write to you, all right?  As often as I can.  And then your robin will fly back home to you.”

“And if—if you’re gone too long—I’m going to fly to _you_.”  Ben’s voice broke in between the words, but his tears had ceased.  He held Poe’s head above him in both hands and looked up into his eyes.  “You understand me?  If you get into trouble, I _will_ come find you.  And probably embarrass you.  It wouldn’t do for the great Sir Dameron to be defended by the very prince he’s supposed to protect, now would it?”

Poe smiled in sheer relief at seeing Ben calm down again.  “Not at all,” he declared.  “Just imagine the blow to my ego—there I’d be, surrounded by lady warriors while _I’m_ the damsel in distress being rescued by my one true love!”  He kissed the end of Ben’s nose with a playful peck, which made something else occur to him.  “But if you can fly as well, and I’m your little robin, what kind of bird are you, hmm?”

“Let’s see. . . .”  Ben’s eyes moved over Poe’s face in thought; then he smiled.  “A raven.”

“Yes, a great raven, with glossy black feathers,” Poe chuckled.  “Sometimes gloomy, sometimes irritable, but always magnificent.”  He kissed Ben’s nose again, then his forehead.  “And strikingly beautiful, too.”

“Hmph, I always did say you were a flatterer,” Ben muttered, but he was still smiling.  “I’m not at all beautiful.  Not like you.”

“I don’t care what you say, you’re beautiful to me,” Poe insisted.  He nuzzled Ben’s hair, then sat up, grimacing a little.  “Erm. . . maybe we should wash up before we go to sleep.”

“That might be a good idea.”  Ben sat up as well and winced harder than Poe had.  “Ouch.”

“Perhaps I was too rough on you,” Poe observed.  “. . . Or _in_ you.”

“Don’t be crude, Sir Dameron,” Ben said with playful haughtiness.  He embraced Poe and nuzzled his ear before whispering, “I’ll be all right—and I want you to be just as rough next time.  I like it that way.”  Nevertheless, he wobbled a little when he got to his feet at the side of the bed, then held out a hand to Poe.  “There’s a pitcher and basin in the other room.  We can clean up a little in there.”

After they did so, they returned to bed, where Poe lay on his back with the lower half of his body beside Ben’s and the upper half resting on the prince’s chest.  Ben was propped up on his pillows with his arms wrapped around Poe, and from time to time he bent his head to kiss Poe’s shoulder or his neck or the silver chain he wore.  Poe tilted his head back to facilitate the kisses and saw that Ben had hung in a bundle on the wall the flowers Poe had braided into his hair earlier that day.

“You saved them,” Poe murmured.

“Hmm?”  Ben looked up to follow his gaze.  “Oh. . . of course.  And I’m glad I did—I can keep them near to me while you’re gone.”  He touched his lips to Poe’s temple.  “And your mask, to remind me of the beautiful face it hid.”

“I wish I could take the crown you made for me with me.”  Poe closed his hand over Ben’s arm and began rubbing it.  “But I’m afraid it would be crushed.  I’ll have to be content with your necklace.”

“Mmn, I gave this to you not imagining you would keep wearing it.”  Ben stroked the chain with his fingertips.  “When I saw it on you that night after your fall. . . I could hardly believe that I meant anything to you, even as Kylo.”

“I knew Kylo was you, by then,” Poe whispered.  “I already knew it when you gave me the necklace—that’s why I never took it off.”

“But how did you know?  I haven’t asked you that yet—how did I give myself away?”

Poe let his eyes fall closed as he answered.  “When you called me your little robin.  Your voice sounded just like it did when you said the same at dinner—only full of love instead of hatred.  I knew it was you, and I knew I loved you.”

“And that. . . that’s why you began to weep?”  Ben sounded choked with emotion himself as he hugged Poe tighter against him and pressed his cheek to Poe’s.  “Oh God, Poe, I wish I had known—or that I had been honest with you from the first.  I never hated you, _never_.  I envied you, I resented you—but mostly, I just _wanted_ you.  I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Shh, it doesn’t matter now.”  Poe turned his head to catch Ben’s mouth with his, then murmured, “We’ll make up for the time we wasted.”

“I’d say we’ve already started, considering that we’ve lain together twice in one day,” Ben whispered with a soft laugh.  “Blow out the candles and go to sleep with me.  You need to rest so you’ll be well enough to travel.”

“Hmph, admit the truth—I’ve worn you out,” Poe taunted him as he pulled away just long enough to extinguish the candles on the nightstand.

“Cocky little robin,” Ben muttered.  Poe nestled back against his side, and, despite his grumbling, Ben was asleep in minutes.  Poe lay awake longer, his head resting on the prince’s chest, and wondered how much time would pass before King Skywalker’s letter arrived.  _Two days, three days at most,_ he figured, _and then I’ll have to go._   Despite all his bravado, the thought of leaving Ben made Poe ache inside, and he tried to comfort himself with the knowledge of how busy he’d be with training Rey and planning her kingdom’s defense against the invading army.

_I’ll hardly have time to miss him,_ Poe told himself, but he had a difficult time believing it.

\--

To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning, Poe awoke before Ben and spent a few moments just watching the prince sleep.  Poe lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, and stroked Ben’s black hair back from his face, gently so that he wouldn’t awaken.  As much as Poe would have liked to stay there, he knew he needed to go—he had too much to do that day in preparation for the receipt of King Skywalker’s letter and his trip to the besieged kingdom.  Ben, on the other hand, might sleep all morning.

_One of the privileges of being royalty,_ Poe mused, with a fond smile nevertheless.  Despite all the _other_ things he had resented Ben for over the years, Poe had never resented the prince’s social status.  Ben was born a prince and Poe was born a commoner, and that’s just the way things were.  Poe leaned forward to kiss the sleeping prince’s pale forehead, then slipped out of bed to get dressed.  He thought about leaving without waking Ben but decided against it out of selfishness; he wanted to hear the prince’s deep voice again and see those dark eyes fixed on his face.

“Ben,” Poe whispered, giving him a little shake.

“Mmn?”  Ben dragged his eyes opened to gaze up at Poe leaning over him.

“I’ve got to go now,” Poe told him, smirking a little when Ben frowned.

“It’s too early.  Stay.”  The prince reached up to hook an arm around Poe’s shoulders and tug him down into an embrace.

“Nngh, I can’t.  You told me to see the physician again, remember?” Poe chided him.  “And then I need to find out all I can about this force that’s threatening your uncle.  _And_ start to organize my men for the journey—”

“All right, all right.”  Ben sighed and kissed Poe’s cheek before letting him go.  “When will I see you again—dinner?”

“I’m going to ask for an audience with your mother this afternoon, and I’d like for you to be there,” Poe suggested.  “You should know what I find out too.”

“Hmph, even after she told me this matter doesn’t concern me?”  Ben pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned back, braced on his arms.  Poe chuckled at the way he was glowering.

“Yes, even so.  Insist that it _does_ concern you.”  Poe trailed his fingers through Ben’s hair again, then cupped the prince’s jaw in his small hand.  “I believe she only asked you to leave yesterday because you were so upset—and in any case, you should be taking an interest in the affairs of the kingdom if you intend to be king one day.”

“Maybe I _don’t_ ,” Ben muttered, casting his eyes up to Poe’s.  “Maybe I’d rather run away with you and. . . and go live in the forest or something.”

“You’d regret it and come running right back home again after your first night away from this glorious bed,” declared Poe.  “Probably leave me out in the forest too, if I protested.”

“I would _not_.  Leave you, that is.”  Ben covered Poe’s hand with his and squeezed his fingers, then brought them to his mouth and kissed them.  “But have it your way, my pretty little tyrant, I’ll come to your audience this afternoon.  If you promise to have an audience with me here, after dinner.  Alone.”

“Yes, your highness,” Poe purred.  He leaned down to kiss Ben’s lips lightly and whispered, “I love you, my prince.”

Ben murmured, “I love you too, darling.  Now go before I decide to make you this tower’s first captive maiden.”

Poe withdrew, reluctantly, and went to look for breakfast and the retainer, Threepio.  Unfortunately, he found the latter first, and the retainer chattered for so long, Poe felt half-starved by the time he finally made his way down to the kitchen.  Nevertheless, Poe learned much about the army threatening King Skywalker’s domain—and about the woman commanding it.

“Her name is Lady Phasma,” Threepio told Poe as the retainer perched on an ornate chair in his office, a small antechamber to the castle library.  Poe sat on the other side of a massive desk, not perching exactly, but leaning forward on his arms, folded on his knees.  Threepio continued, “She acts under orders from a Lord Hux—no one is exactly sure how he came to power, but he seems to be in control of a rather worthless little city-state some distance away.  Or at least it _was_ worthless until he began annexing other people’s kingdoms!”  Threepio said this last bit with an affronted tone, as if he found the enemy lord’s actions to be more rude than they were threatening.

“If he has so little power, how has he managed that?” Poe asked.  “Is his army that good?”

“Apparently so.”  Threepio frowned, finally looking concerned instead of miffed.  “Well-trained, and enormous.  From what I’ve heard, Phasma is a formidable commander, despite being a woman. . . but I don’t know how she managed to recruit so many soldiers.”

Poe raised an eyebrow and prompted, “If she’s attractive, perhaps _that’s_ how. . . ‘despite’ her being a woman.”

“Oh.  I suppose.  I hadn’t thought of that.”  Threepio shrugged then went on to tell Poe all the information he had gathered on the army’s size and battle techniques.  He finished, “The conclusion Queen Organa has reached is that they will approach from the eastern border of King Skywalker’s lands, probably in at least two separate companies since they have such a large army.  And. . . .”  He signed and wrung his hands.  “And then, there would be nothing between Lady Phasma and _our_ kingdom, if King Skywalker’s army fails to stop them.”

“I already thought of that,” Poe muttered, “and that’s why I have to go and bring reinforcements.  No matter how brilliant Phasma is, or how large the army is, I don’t think she can counter both of our forces working in concert—and if the queen is correct about her attacking in two companies, our knights can defend against one and King Skywalker’s against the other.  Is Sir Antilles still their commander?”

“Yes, although that concerns me—he _is_ getting rather old,” fretted the retainer.

“Isn’t he about _your_ age?”  Poe had to stifle a chuckle at the offended glare he received in return for his question.

“ _I’m_ not leading an army!” Threepio huffed.  Poe placated him with a gesture and a smile.

“All right, all right.  And you don’t need to be concerned either way—I have a plan for King Skywalker’s army, provided he’s agreeable,” Poe assured him.  Threepio gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press him for details, which relieved Poe; he didn’t want to bring up his idea of training Rey for battle to anyone besides Ben and the queen, until both Rey and her father had agreed to it.  The retainer then launched into long physical descriptions of both Hux and Phasma—who indeed was quite beautiful, if rumors were to be believed, although Threepio had never seen her in person so one couldn’t be _sure_ , etc.—followed by what must have been every piece of gossip ever uttered about them, individually or together.  Poe could not have cared less about any of that, since it had no bearing on their military prowess, but he had learned long ago the benefit of staying on Threepio’s good side.  The retainer might seem to have a position of little importance in the court, yet Poe knew that sometimes he could be the best, if not the only, source of information.  Besides that, as frustrated as the king got with Threepio, the queen valued his opinion, and Poe wanted the retainer’s opinion of _him_ to remain high.

When Poe finally escaped the retainer’s clutches, he managed to sneak some breakfast before seeking out the physician in what the old man called his “laboratory.”  To Poe, the small room in the underground level of the castle looked like the sort of place an alchemist or magician might practice some dark art, but the physician insisted his vast collection of chemicals and ingredients were medicinal, usually grumbling something about “science” and being surrounded by clods who couldn’t understand it.

The assistants, Semele and Agave, blushed when they saw Poe, but at the same time, one of them masked a giggle behind one hand.  Poe blushed as well because that giggle told him they had indeed recognized him on the balcony with the prince during the masquerade.  The physician, thankfully, ignored the girls.

“How’s the head?” he grumbled in Poe’s direction as he gestured for the younger man to sit down.  Once Poe was seated, the physician began examining the spot where he had been wounded.

“The wound hasn’t been troubling me—” Poe began, then was promptly interrupted.

“Well it shouldn’t, it’s closed up and should be healed within a week,” the physician growled.  “But?”  He moved to stand in front of Poe, frowning down at him.

“But I’ve been having some dizzy spells,” Poe admitted.  “Usually when I’m tired, or when I get up suddenly.  And. . . .”  He hesitated to explain the part that most troubled him.  “And sometimes I have headaches, bad ones.  They seem to come on when I’m upset.”

“Upset?  How?”  Poe gulped, and the physician groaned, “An example, boy, give me an example!”

Poe averted his eyes and mumbled, “I had a fight with the prince, and I got angry—really angry.  It made my head hurt so badly, I couldn’t even stand for a few moments.”

“The prince would give anyone a headache,” declared the physician, and the assistants murmured between themselves.  “But what happened then?  Did the headache pass on its own?”

“I. . . yes, eventually.”  Poe decided it wasn’t a total lie, since the headache he’d had on his last night in his own room _had_ passed on its own.  _I just can’t tell him Ben cast a spell on me,_ Poe thought.  _Of all people, **he** would start trouble over it._

“Hmm.”  The physician eyed Poe as if he thought the knight was holding something back.  “Possibly it’s only a temporary condition that will improve with time.”

“ _Possibly?_ ” Poe repeated.  “You mean it might be permanent?”

“Too soon to tell.  There isn’t much I can do at this point, except to tell you to avoid overtiring or upsetting yourself.  Which means avoiding the prince, most likely.”  The physician turned away to his work table before he saw Poe’s grimace.  “I’m going to prepare some medicine for you that will help with the pain,” the old man said over his shoulder, “but if you don’t improve within a week, come back.  We may have to take more drastic measures.”

“All right,” Poe agreed, but he didn’t like the sound of “drastic measures”—or “avoiding the prince” _or_ “come back in a week” since he likely wouldn’t even be in the kingdom in a week’s time.  As he stared at the physician’s back, frowning, one of the assistants crept over to him.

“You had a fight with the prince?” she whispered.  The look of concern in her blue-grey eyes surprised Poe.

“Er, well. . . we made up,” Poe mumbled weakly.  The girl smiled and exchanged glances with her sister, but the physician grumbled in their direction.

“If you children are going to keep chattering, go outside!  You’re distracting me.”

The assistant fell silent with a horrified look, but Poe smiled and got up, motioning both of the sisters to follow him out.  They did so, meekly, and stood by the door to the laboratory casting shy looks at Poe.

“How did you know?” he asked one of them, hoping she was the same one who had been talking to him inside.

“Know what?” she asked.

“About. . . about Ben.  And me.”  Poe found himself blushing again; something about the twins’ innocence made him self-conscious.  “I. . . I know you saw me at the masquerade, but how did you recognize him?”

“Oh.”  The first twin looked at the other, who answered, “Sir Dameron, when you were injured, Prince Solo was _so_ concerned for you.  It was very obvious how much he loved you.”  She glanced at her sister, who continued, “So when we saw you. . . um. . . _with_ someone at the masquerade, we were fairly sure. . . .”

Poe chuckled, “Well, you were right.  So avoiding the prince isn’t exactly an option for my treatment.”

“Oh, of course not,” the first twin said with a sweet earnestness.  “You’d be very unhappy apart from him, I’m sure, so that would be the _worst_ thing for your health.”

“Just let him take care of you,” the second twin went on.  “You’re very brave and strong, but if you’re still ill, you should allow yourself to be weak sometimes too.”

Poe’s heart had fallen at the reminder of how much he would miss Ben when he left, but the second twin’s words struck him.  “ _I should allow myself to be weak sometimes,”_ he thought.  _Maybe she’s right—except I **can’t** be weak right now.  Too many people are depending on me._

“Thank you,” he told both girls aloud.  “And thank you for your care of me last week.  I appreciate it.”

The assistants nodded, but before either of them spoke again, the physician emerged from his laboratory and thrust a small bottle in Poe’s direction.

“Here.  Put a drop of this on your tongue— _just a drop,_ mind, if you want to keep feeling anything at all—when you have the headaches,” he ordered while Poe took the bottle.  “It will help with the pain.  Not with the dizziness though, so try to get more rest, and don’t become overtired.”  He sighed and gave Poe a skeptical look from under his bushy eyebrows.  “And _try_ not to fight with Prince Solo.  All right?”

“I’ll try,” Poe agreed, masking a smile when he saw the look the twins exchanged.  He tucked the bottle inside a pocket and decided to save the medicine for his upcoming journey, when he wouldn’t have Ben and his magic to help him.  Still, the rest of the physician’s advice was good as well.  _I really should try to rest while I can, before King Skywalker’s letter arrives,_ Poe mused as he climbed the stairs up to the ground floor of the castle.  _And to avoid arguing with Ben—although that’s easier said than done. . . ._

Poe spent the rest of the morning tracking down the best of the knights under his command and asking them to meet after the noon meal out on the grounds where they trained.  To those who asked why, Poe assured them he would explain that afternoon; however, some of them already suspected the strange request was related to the sudden disappearance of King and Princess Skywalker, judging from the whispered comments Poe overheard.

_We couldn’t have kept the threat to the Skywalker kingdom a secret for long anyhow,_ Poe told himself.  _When the reinforcements and I leave, **everyone** will know._

Like breakfast, lunch was a far less formal meal than dinner.  Rarely were all members of the court present, and today, the king was there without the queen.  If Ben was coming, he was going to be late, but Poe turned up right on time; what little breakfast he’d had seemed to have happened an awfully long time ago.  King Solo nodded at Poe, rather awkwardly, then managed to avoid looking at him again—particularly when Ben hurried into the dining hall a few moments late.

“So you finally got up?” Poe whispered when the prince sat down next to him.

“Hmph, I’ve _been_ up,” Ben retorted, although his indignant expression melted into a smile as he and Poe looked into each other’s eyes.  “I was talking to Mother.  She’ll meet with you this afternoon—and with me.  I think I’ve convinced her that I can actually be of some use in this situation.”

“I’m glad.”  Poe reached over to squeeze Ben’s knee under the banquet table.  “Especially that you’re taking some responsibility.”

“You make it sound like I’ve been completely useless so far,” Ben grumbled, and Poe had to remind himself not to get incensed over the prince’s attitude.  _Getting in a fight isn’t only bad for my health,_ he thought.  _It’s bad for **us**.  We’ve got to learn to get along better._

“Ben, that wasn’t what I meant,” Poe sighed as he set down his fork and shifted in his chair toward the prince.  “Look at me.”  When Ben did so, Poe murmured, “I’m saying that I’m proud of you, my love.  Why do you assume that everything people say to you is intended as an insult?  Maybe I do tease you too much, but you’ve got to believe I wouldn’t say anything meant to _hurt_ you.”

Ben sighed, deeply, then surprised Poe by lifting a hand to cup his cheek, without heeding the few other diners scattered about the table.  Out of the corner of his eye, Poe saw the king shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“I suppose I know that you wouldn’t, Poe,” Ben whispered, so the others couldn’t overhear.  “It’s just. . . .”  He stroked Poe’s cheek with his thumb before letting his hand drop.  “The way people talk here in court—no one besides my parents dares to criticize me openly, but there are a thousand ways around that, ways to insult someone subtly.  And I believe I’ve heard all one-thousand by now.  If I assume that everyone _is_ insulting me, it’s harder to be hurt. . . and at least they can’t think that I’m too stupid to understand what they’re really saying.”

“Oh, Ben. . . .”  Poe clasped the prince’s hand under the table and whispered back, “I would never do that to you, I swear.  You can trust me, all right?”

“I know I can, Poe.  I’m sorry.”  Ben dropped his eyes to their hands before he continued, “And I’m glad you’re proud of me.  If I can’t protect you by keeping you here with me, I can at least help you succeed, so you’ll come home to me faster.”

By the time they finished eating, everyone else had left the dining hall; the king had been the first to make his exit, apparently eager to escape his son’s ongoing flirtation with Poe.  As Poe started on his way to the training grounds, where his men would be waiting for him, Ben walked outside with him.  Even though Poe knew he would have to hurry to be on time, he couldn’t resist when Ben held him back, just outside the castle walls.

“You could come with me,” Poe suggested as Ben wrapped him in an embrace.  “You might inspire some of your knights to go fight for your uncle’s kingdom.”

“I’m only interested in inspiring one particular knight,” Ben hissed in his ear, “and I want to inspire him to do something other than fight.”  He kissed Poe’s cheek, then his forehead.  “And anyhow, I’d just be a distraction—at least to you.  I’ll see you later, instead. . . my little robin.”

Poe looked up at him as he slipped his arms around Ben’s neck and murmured, “All right, my magnificent raven.”  He leaned up and kissed Ben’s lips, but just as they parted against Poe’s, the sound of a startled gasp made the two men break apart.  Poe turned and flushed deeply when he found one of the knights’ pages standing a few yards away, having come from the direction of the training grounds.  The boy was staring at the two of them and blushing himself.

“Um.  S-sir. . . Sir Dameron,” he stammered, “they sent me to—to find you.  Your knights, I mean.  They’re assembled and. . . and waiting.  On you.  Should I tell them that you’re, uh, occupied?”

“ _No_ ,” Poe groaned, “no, tell them I’ll be there right away.”

“Right,” the page gulped; then he hurried away back toward the training grounds, nearly running.

“Shit,” said Ben.  Poe looked up at him with a small, helpless smile.

“Well, we said we didn’t care if everyone found out,” Poe said, shrugging.  “I guess now they will.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben muttered as he lifted a hand to rake it through his hair in a nervous gesture.  “I shouldn’t have stopped you out here.”

“Don’t be sorry.”  Poe’s smile grew warmer, and he stepped forward to embrace Ben once more.  “I meant it, I don’t care who knows, or what they think, because I love you, Ben.”  Ben relaxed in Poe’s arms and bent his head to kiss the shorter man again, albeit briefly.

“And I love you, Sir Dameron.  Now go see to your men, before they send that poor boy back here again,” Ben told him.

Poe left him and went to the training grounds—and the closer he got, the more he dreaded what he might find there, despite what he’d told Ben.  Poe really didn’t care if the other knights knew he was in love with the prince, yet he also realized that some of them would enjoy teasing him about it.  To be fair, most of those would probably tease him just as much if he were caught kissing a woman, but Poe wasn’t sure if the teasing from a certain few men would be entirely friendly.

None of them said anything upon Poe’s approach, and he began to relax as he apprised them of the threat to the Skywalker kingdom.  When he revealed his intention to travel there and fight alongside King Skywalker’s knights, most of the gathered soldiers cheered and expressed their willingness to go with him, as Poe hoped they would—although he was careful to insist that no one was under any obligation to risk himself for a foreign kingdom.

However, one of the men—in fact, one of those whose teasing Poe dreaded—folded his arms and frowned throughout Poe’s enthusiastic speech, and when Poe asked for volunteers to commit to the endeavor, he interrupted.

“Before I agree to put my ass on the line for a good deed,” the soldier drawled, “there’s something else I’d like you to clear up, and I’m sure the others would love to know as well.  Bartholomew here—”  He gestured at the page, who was standing meekly off to one side as the men talked. “–was rather flustered when he returned from seeking you out just now.  Naturally, I was concerned for his well-being and asked just what was troubling him.”

_I’m sure you were concerned,_ Poe thought bitterly; he knew full well that particular man had never been concerned for anyone but himself.

“The lad told all of us that he’d found you with Prince Solo,” continued the soldier.  “ _Kissing_ Prince Solo, to be exact.”  Poe felt his cheeks burn as some of the others chuckled, and a couple even repeated their earlier cheer.

“What of it?” Poe muttered.  He knew denial was useless, and anyhow, he didn’t want to make the poor, now-humiliated page out to be a liar.

“Nothing at all, except it puts me in mind of some earlier rumors I’d heard,” the knight taunted him, “that you were awfully close to the prince at the unmasking the other night.  What exactly is going on, Sir Dameron?  Is there really a threat to the lands of King Skywalker, or is this campaign just a strategy of yours designed to win favor with the prince?”

Poe gritted his teeth, now more angered than embarrassed, although he tried not to show it as he replied, “Certainly there’s really a threat—you all know that the king and the princess departed for home abruptly, and this is why.  The queen is now awaiting a letter from King Skywalker to bring her more information, and I intend to depart as soon as it arrives.  If you still think I’m fabricating invaders when that letter comes, you’re welcome to stay behind!”

“We’ll see,” the soldier returned, ignoring the louder chuckles at his expense, in response to Poe’s answer.  “But I notice you haven’t denied anything else I’ve said about the prince making love to you.  And here we were all under the impression that you hated the man!  Which is it, Sir Dameron?”

Poe forced calmness into his voice as he said, “I do not hate Prince Solo.  His mother is the queen, and so I am as loyal to him as I am to her.”

“So are we all, even if the prince is an intolerable ass,” countered the other soldier with a grin.  A few of the men laughed at his daring—or, perhaps, in agreement.  “But then, he isn’t kissing us all. . . only _you_.  What else is he doing to you—bending you over, using you like a woman?  Is he fucking you, Sir Dameron?”  Poe’s teeth clenched so hard, a ghost of his chronic headache returned.

“I will not tolerate such disrespect to a member of the royal family,” he snarled, “or to _me_.  I am still your commander!”  Finally, the rebellious knight dropped his gloating, humorous tone, and he scowled at Poe, revealing that he was every bit as angry as their leader.

“So it’s true, he’s fucking you.”  He shoved his way past the others, almost to where Poe stood, then turned to face the rest of the men.  “Would you listen to this!  He wants us to go fight an army that poses no threat to our own kingdom, just to impress his lover.  And an army led by a _woman_ no less—whom we would face under a commander who isn’t even a man himself!”

Poe struggled to think of some comeback to that, but before he could speak, another of the knights broke in.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he told the protestor.  “Sir Dameron’s so _much_ of a man, even other men want him!  Whereas _you_ can’t bed the ugliest wench in the tavern unless you pay her first.”  To Poe’s relief, the rest of the soldiers began to laugh, the kind of loud, raucous laugh that signals the release of tension.  Poe’s harasser glowered and shut his mouth, but he still half-turned to glare at Poe.

“Go,” Poe ordered him, pointing back toward the castle for good measure.  “Don’t trouble yourself about following me into battle, because you won’t be coming with us.  I don’t want any soldier under my command who doesn’t trust me completely.  That goes for the rest of you,” Poe added as he looked up at the others.  “If any of you have the slightest doubt or misgiving as to my motives for aiding King Skywalker— _or_ as to my suitability as your commander—go with him.”

No one so much as stirred until the knight who had spoken up for Poe murmured, “We’re with you, Sir Dameron, to hell and back if need be.”  Poe nodded to him, hoping his gratitude didn’t show on his face, but the reactions of a couple of the others troubled him: they dropped their eyes to the ground, not looking either at him or at the dissenter who was slinking away.  _I’ll have to watch them closely,_ Poe thought.  _They may cause trouble.  But the rest, I can count on. . . ._

Poe dismissed the remaining soldiers a few moments later, after asking them to reconvene there the next morning to prepare further for the potential battles they would be facing on their journey.  After the others dispersed, the young page hung back and cast an almost fearful look up at Poe when the knight noticed him.

“Sir Dameron?” Bartholomew mumbled, “I-I’m sorry.  For telling them, I mean.  I know I’m always supposed to tell the truth, but I didn’t intend for you to get in trouble.”

Poe smiled down at him and assured him, “You didn’t do anything wrong. . . and you _should_ always tell the truth.  In fact, I’m glad it happened, because I would rather know now who lacks faith in me, than to find out when he refuses my command in the heat of battle!”  The page nodded, but he didn’t look convinced that Poe wasn’t angry with him.  Poe put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“And you know what?” he added.  “ _I_ didn’t do anything wrong either.  I do love Prince Solo, and he loves me.  It doesn’t make either of us less of a man.”

“Of course not!” the boy enthused.  “Sir Dameron, you’re the greatest, bravest, _best_ knight in the whole world!  And Prince Solo is. . . um. . . .  Well, he’s not an _ass_.  Even if he’s kind of grumpy, and he never smiles.”  Poe had started to laugh, but he fell silent when the page added with a sense of wonder, “Except he was smiling at _you_.  If you can make him happy, then we should be grateful, because he’ll be nicer to _everyone_.”  Poe squeezed the boy’s shoulder again and swallowed hard.

“Go on inside,” he mumbled.  “If you’re coming with us, you need to start preparing.”

“Of course I’m coming with you!”  The page beamed up at him.  “I’ve never been outside Queen Organa’s kingdom—I can’t wait!”  He scampered off, leaving Poe alone.

_He never smiles. . . except he was smiling at **you**._   The words echoed in Poe’s mind as he trudged back toward the castle a minute later.  As worried as Poe was over the dissention of those few of his men, his heart was soothed by the thought of being the only one who could make Ben smile.

\--

To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

Queen Organa approved of Poe’s plans when he detailed them to her and Ben that afternoon.  As Poe had suspected, she was especially pleased with his idea of training Princess Skywalker both to fight and to command her father’s knights.

“I’m sure she’ll do very well,” the queen told Poe.  “Rey always did seem bored with the usual particulars of court life, and although going into battle will be dangerous, I believe she can take care of herself.”

After making sure that the three were alone—even the retainer had not been allowed to join them—Poe suggested, “I was thinking too about what you told me, that you suspected the princess of having inherited her father’s magical abilities.  Perhaps they might be of use against Lady Phasma as well.”  Ben scowled at that.

“Don’t count on it.  Magic is hard to control, and Rey doesn’t have any practice using it, unless there’s a lot she and her father haven’t told us,” the prince muttered.  “She would need an experienced mage to teach her, first.”

“Like you?”  Poe arched an eyebrow, wondering if Ben were angling at getting invited to come along.  However, the queen shot that idea down before Poe could even suggest it.

“Not at _all_ like Ben,” the queen retorted.  “For one thing, I’m not letting _both_ of you leave the kingdom at the same time, especially not together.”

“ _Mother,_ ” groaned Ben, but Queen Organa ignored him.

“And for another, surely you haven’t forgotten what Rey’s own father is capable of,” she went on with a stern frown at her son.  “Your uncle Luke taught _you_ everything you know.  If he wishes his daughter to embrace her own abilities, he can instruct her himself.”

“He didn’t teach me _everything_ ,” Ben grumbled, shooting his mother a glare.  Poe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable as he always was when the royal family bickered.  His new relationship with Ben, as well as the fact that they were bickering over _his_ suggestion, only heightened his discomfort.

“Well, magic aside, Rey—Princess Skywalker picked up jousting so quickly, she should have no difficulty with the other things I can teach her,” Poe said in an attempt to distract them from the argument.  The queen turned away from Ben to nod at Poe.

“You’ll need to do so quickly, but I have faith in you, Poe.  I hope this threat won’t keep you away from us for long,” she murmured.  “Perhaps when the initial onslaught is turned back, Luke can manage with his own soldiers.”

“I hope so too, your majesty,” Poe said.  Ben kept quiet for once, dark eyes fixed on the ground.

The prince was in a better mood by dinner, even smiling from time to time.  Poe remembered what Bartholomew had said, about how Poe made Ben happy and how that was beneficial for everyone.  _He was right,_ Poe thought, and that made him feel good. . . and a little less selfish because of his feelings for Ben.

After dinner, Ben drew Poe off toward the tower for the private “audience” he had mentioned that morning.  They even began it by talking, reclining on Ben’s bed still dressed save for their shoes.  Ben laid his head in Poe’s lap, and the knight stroked and played with the prince’s long hair as he told Ben what he had learned from the retainer, besides what they’d already discussed that afternoon.

“And what about your men?” Ben asked, looking up at Poe’s face.  “Have they agreed to go with you?”

“Most of them.”  Poe had already decided not to tell Ben about that afternoon’s altercation with the knight who had taunted him over their relationship; it would only make Ben angry, and possibly hurt him.  Poe went on, “I think they’re even excited for the travel, and the challenge of it.  That young page certainly is.”

Ben sighed, “I hope they’re _up_ to the challenge.”

“Are you implying that I might have trained them inadequately, your highness?” Poe teased.  He tugged on the small braid he had plaited into Ben’s hair as the prince rolled his eyes.

“To think everyone says _I’m_ too easily offended.  And what did you do to my hair—?”  He turned his head, trying to see the braid, and Poe laughed.

“Never mind that.  And have some faith in the other knights—your mother did select them from among the best men in the kingdom, after all.”  Poe leaned down to kiss Ben’s forehead, and the prince tilted his head back to catch Poe’s mouth with his own.

“She chose well when she selected you,” Ben murmured against Poe’s lips.  “One look at you, and this Lady Phasma just may surrender herself.”

“Oh?  Then she’ll be disappointed to learn that my heart is already lost,” Poe chuckled as he dotted kisses over Ben’s face.  “And what if she prefers other women?  She may decide to surrender herself to your cousin, instead.”

“Hmph, fine with me.  That way you could come home all the sooner.”  Ben reached up to stroke the dark curls of hair back from Poe’s forehead.  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he whispered, “about you going.”

“All right.  So what do you want to do instead?”  Poe grinned and slid his hands down Ben’s neck to his shoulders, then inside the neck of his shirt.

“Mmn, make love to you, of course.  But. . . .”  Ben pulled free of his grasp and sat up to look down at Poe, smirking.  “I want you to wear your mask.”

“My mask?”  Confused as he was, Poe had to smile at the expression on Ben’s face.  “Why?”

“Because you look beautiful in it,” Ben told him, “and because that’s how I first experienced you—as my shy dance partner, who stammered and blushed and trembled when I touched you.”  He reached out to touch Poe’s cheek.  “You were so different, so unsure.  I could hardly believe that it was I who had that effect on you.”

“You were different too,” murmured Poe, “so confident.  That first night, even though you felt so familiar to me, I was certain it couldn’t be you behind that mask.”

“It gave me another chance, a chance to start over with you. . . to treat you the way you deserved instead of pushing you away like I’d always done before.”  Ben curled his fingers under Poe’s jaw.  “Go in the other room and put your mask on. . . and take everything else off.  Everything but this,” he added, dropping his hand to Poe’s throat and fingering the silver chain necklace he still wore.  Poe’s smile grew as he felt a twinge of arousal at Ben’s idea.

“I’ll do it, on one condition,” he laughed.  “You do the same.  Wear your mask, and nothing else.”  Ben hesitated, but then he gave in and nodded with a smile.

“All right.”  The prince slid off the bed and took Poe’s mask down from where he’d hung it on the mirror.  “Here,” he said, handing it to Poe as the knight stood.  Poe clutched it and slipped away into the antechamber, where he shed his clothing and put the mask on.  There was no mirror in that room, and Poe was glad of it; he didn’t think he would have had the nerve to rejoin Ben if he had to see himself first.

Poe tapped on the door to the bedroom and called, “Are you ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready for you,” Ben called back.  Poe felt a bit silly emerging into the bedroom wearing nothing but his mask and necklace, but when he heard the hiss of Ben’s indrawn breath, he decided the effect was worth a little embarrassment.  Ben was sitting up in bed with the linens covering his lap and the strange silver mask covering his face.  His chest, though, was bare, and Poe’s eyes dragged over it before returning to the mask.  Poe felt his groin—which he had partially shielded from Ben’s vision with his hands—tense with desire at the sight of the prince.

“Your face looks like it did the night you first danced with me,” Poe murmured, “and your body looks just how I imagined it would.”

“You imagined me naked?” Ben asked in a low, husky voice.  A little smile played over his pale mouth.  “In bed, waiting for you?  Wanting you?”

“Yes,” hissed Poe.  He drew closer to the bed, stopping at the edge just out of Ben’s reach but leaning in to whisper near his ear, “And I imagined what you’d do to me. . . _Kylo_.”  Ben gave a soft moan and turned his head, trying to catch Poe’s mouth with his, but the knight drew back with a teasing smile.

“No, come here,” Ben groaned.  He shifted in bed, letting the covers fall free of his thighs as he moved to the edge of the mattress and reached for Poe.  His fingers closed over Poe’s forearm before the knight could get away; then Ben pulled the smaller man forward with an abrupt jerk so that Poe collapsed on the bed, landing on his hip.  He sank into the soft mattress and immediately found himself captured in Ben’s long arms.  Poe gave a token struggle, laughing all the while, as Ben pulled him down into the bed.  Their lips finally met, and Poe gave in; he thrust his tongue down into the prince’s mouth the way he’d wanted to at the very first masquerade.  Ben clenched the fingers of one hand in the waves of Poe’s hair and hooked his other arm around the knight’s waist to hold Poe down against him.

“Shall I call you Edgar?” the prince whispered when their mouths parted for breath.  “I’d like to pretend for a little while—to make love to you the way I wanted to at the masquerades, instead of leaving you at midnight to come back here alone.”

“Yes,” Poe breathed again.  He lay on top of Ben, raised up on his elbows to look down at his lover.  “I thought you were a stranger, but at the same time, you were so familiar to me. . . and I wanted you so much.”  He bent his head and kissed the prince again, mumbling in between caresses, “Make love to me, Kylo!  Capture your little robin’s body like you’ve captured his heart. . . .”

Ben groaned an affirmation into Poe’s mouth and dropped both hands to the smaller man’s legs.  As they kissed hard and deeper, Ben squeezed the backs of Poe’s thighs then drew them apart and upward until Poe straddled his abdomen, both of them getting harder as they rubbed against each other.

When Ben pulled his mouth away from Poe’s, he began nibbling and licking the knight’s neck instead, murmuring to him, “Mmn, the way you smell and taste. . . it drives me absolutely mad.  I want you, so much—I want to devour you!”  As Ben sucked on Poe’s neck, pausing occasionally to tug on the silver necklace with his teeth, the knight whimpered and tilted his head back.

“Aah, yes—nngh, _Kylo!_ ”  Poe’s moans sharpened into a cry when Ben slid his hands up to grip his ass, digging his fingers into Poe’s flesh.  Ben let go long enough to push Poe up into a sitting position, then groped him again as he turned the silver mask up toward Poe’s face.  Poe’s only regret was that he couldn’t see Ben’s eyes, but he knew they were fixed on him.

“You’re so hard,” Ben whispered hoarsely.  “Do I arouse you this much, my little one?  You really want—me?”

“ _Yes_.”  Poe reached down to stroke Ben’s cheek with his fingertips.  “I want you, I’ve wanted you from the first.”  Ben palmed his ass, spreading his fingers, then thrust up against Poe slowly as his voice dropped to a barely audible register.

“You want me inside you?”

Poe didn’t trust his voice, and he only nodded.  Ben didn’t turn his masked face from Poe’s as he stretched his hand out to grasp the bottle of oil he’d left on the nightstand.  He tipped it up briefly to slick his fingers with the oil, then set the bottle aside and reached for Poe again.  When Ben pushed one finger into him, slowly, Poe shuddered with both pleasure and desire for the even greater pleasure he anticipated.

“God, feeling you tremble like that. . . .”  Ben’s deep voice was gravely with lust.  He pushed a second finger in beside the first and worked them in deeper; Poe rocked back against his hand with a groan.  Ben went on, rasping, “I want to make you mine, Edgar, I want you to crave me, to _need_ me.”  He twisted his fingers, grinding them inside Poe and coaxing another groan from him.

“I do,” Poe gasped.  He leaned forward and braced his hands on Ben’s chest as he begged, “I need you!  Please. . . .”

“Yes,” Ben hissed.  He reached his free hand between them to stroke Poe with tantalizing, infuriating slowness.  “That’s what I want, to hear you beg me to please you.  That’s what I dreamt of after leaving you. . . hearing you beg and seeing that look of desire in your beautiful eyes.”  His voice fell from a rasp to a whisper, and Poe quivered as much from the sound of it as from the feel of Ben’s long fingers probing him.

“For years, I’ve wanted to see you look at me that way, Edgar— _Poe_ ,” Ben murmured, dropping the pretense of anonymity.  He trailed his fingers up Poe’s abdomen and breast bone to his throat, then over his chin to brush his lips.  Poe caught a fingertip between his teeth and sucked on it until Ben began to thrust it in the knight’s mouth in a rather lewd action.

“Mmm,” Poe whimpered as he curled his tongue around Ben’s finger before drawing his head back and whispering, “Please, please take me. . . .  I want you, Ben, and you’re torturing me by making me wait!”  Ben laughed, low and sensual, and drew his two fingers out slowly—then thrust three back in deep.  Poe gasped and dug his own fingers into the muscles of Ben’s chest.  He had begun to sweat under his mask, and he felt droplets of perspiration sliding down his face as he trembled and squirmed on top of his lover.  Although most of Ben’s face was concealed by his own mask, his expressive mouth was drawn back, half in smugness at his ability to make Poe helpless with desire, and half in effort to restrain his own lust.

“Nngh, please. . . ,” Poe whined, pushing back against Ben’s fingers, “please fuck me. . . Bennnnn. . . .”

Ben growled, “You want it?  You want to feel what you do to me, how hard you make me?”  He finally extracted his fingers and put both hands on Poe’s hips to hold him in place; then Poe felt the prince press up against him.  “This is what you want?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Poe demanded.  The word shifted into a choked groan when Ben thrust all the way into him in one movement—inexorable yet gentle all at the same time, careful not to hurt Poe despite how much Ben wanted him.  Ben clutched Poe’s hips and watched him, breathing hard with his lips parted, as if he were afraid to move, but Poe felt no pain at all.  He smiled down at the prince as he began to shift his hips in small circles.  Ben tilted his head back and his cheeks flushed as he moaned; Poe’s motions were all it took to make Ben lose his control of the situation.

“Oh Poe. . . yes, just like that, ride me. . . .” Ben mumbled, nearly incoherent.  He thrust up in time to Poe’s movements and used his hands on the knight’s hips to propel the smaller man up and down.  Poe pushed off of the prince’s chest and leaned back, bracing his arms behind him instead, to get the full effect of Ben moving inside him.

“I wanted—wanted this out on the balcony,” Poe panted.  “Wanted to ride you—make you come in me!”

“Yessss,” Ben hissed.  He brought a hand up to cup Poe’s jaw roughly, then dropped it to his collarbone and ran it over Poe’s necklace.  “And I wanted to see you like this—on me, using me. . . knowing your beautiful face was just behind that mask!”  His words dissolved into groans as their motions came faster and rougher, Poe rising up to drop himself hard against Ben’s abdomen, each time feeling a jolt of ecstasy as Ben hit just the right spot.  Despite that sensation, Poe tried to hold back the orgasm he could feel approaching, but after a few moments, Ben slid his hand down Poe’s torso and began stroking him again.  Poe tensed before he gave in and thrust hard into the prince’s fist.

“Ben,” he gasped, “harder, I’m almost—there!”

“Look at me,” Ben commanded him, at the same time as he bucked his hips up with more force.  “I want to see you—looking at me when—nngh, when you come!”  Poe obeyed, looking down through his mask at his lover’s face as he throbbed in Ben’s hand.  A few seconds later, another thrust from Ben made Poe come; a wave of blissful ecstasy washed over his entire body when he shuddered, followed by a disorienting dizziness.  Later, Poe wondered if the dizziness was a symptom of his injury—and imagined the physician scolding him for “exerting himself” too much—but in the moment, he actually enjoyed it.  Combined with the other effects of the pleasure Ben brought him, the disorientation felt _good_.

Poe didn’t know how long he came, but he felt like his orgasm lasted a long time.  When his head finally cleared a little, he was slumped forward, braced on his arms again with his hands on the bed to either side of Ben’s stomach, and the prince was still thrusting in him as he clutched both of Poe’s hips.  Poe gasped for breath and tried not to show any signs of discomfort; he had tightened up after coming, but he wanted Ben to finish inside him.  A few seconds later, that happened, with Ben growling through his clenched teeth as his body jerked and trembled under Poe.  Afterward, Ben relaxed completely, dropping his hands to his sides and panting.  Poe leaned down to kiss his parted lips, then gently pushed Ben’s mask up and off so he could see his lover’s face.  The brown eyes that focused on Poe’s were filled with adoration.

“You’re even better than I imagined,” Ben mumbled after a moment of just gazing up at Poe’s masked face.  “And I think I could spend the rest of my life watching you come.”  Poe laughed, a little embarrassed again now that his desire had been satisfied, and pulled his own mask off to let his heated face cool.

“If that’s what you intend to do, you’ll have to give me some time to rest first,” the knight chuckled.  He wiped his face with the back of his hand then lay down on top of Ben and nuzzled the prince’s sweat-dampened hair against the side of his neck.  Ben lifted his arms to wrap them around Poe’s back and hug the smaller man tightly to him.

“So,” the prince whispered, “do you think my jousting technique is improving?”  Poe didn’t get it for a second, but then he started laughing again, laughter mixed with a groan.

Poe snickered, “Prince Solo, you should be ashamed of yourself.  For the silliness of your jokes more than their dirtiness.  Although yes. . . .”  He kissed the side of Ben’s face, then the lobe of his ear before murmuring into it, “You’re very good with your. . . lance.  But maybe I should give you another lesson with mine, later, just to be thorough.”

“Mmn, _yes_ , yes you should.”

They held each other in silence for a while, Ben stroking Poe’s hair, until Poe murmured, “I saw the physician again today.”

“What did he tell you?” Ben asked.

“To come back in a week if I wasn’t better.”  Poe chuckled, though without much humor, then went on, “And that the headaches and dizziness might be—might be permanent.”

“Permanent?”  Ben’s arms tightened around Poe, and he turned his head to look into the knight’s eyes.  “Why?  What’s causing it?”

“If he knows, he didn’t say.”  Although Poe didn’t want to worry Ben, he was also touched by the prince’s concern.  “Mostly he advised me to avoid getting too tired or upset, since that’s what brings the attacks on.”

“And yet you’re still going off to war,” Ben grumbled.  “I suppose you didn’t tell him _that_.”

“No.  In fact, he seems to think that _you’re_ the only thing that’s going to upset me.  He said I should avoid you.”  Ben’s scowl made Poe laugh, a genuine laugh this time.  “I didn’t tell him about us, either, but his assistants have figured it out.”

“Hmph.”  Ben pressed his lips against Poe’s forehead and sighed.  “So the physician wasn’t useful at all, hmm?”

“He did give me some medicine,” Poe told him, “something he mixed himself.  I don’t know what’s in it, but he claims just a little will help with the pain if I have a headache.”

Ben surprised him by asserting, “Good.  Take it with you when you go.  If I can’t be there to help you, at least I’ll know you won’t be suffering.”

“Ben. . . .”  Poe shifted to nestle his cheek against the curve of Ben’s neck, where it joined his shoulder.  “I _will_ be suffering, because I’ll be apart from you.”

“Oh, Poe.”  Ben’s sigh sounded pained, but full of emotion at the same time.  “I thought. . . I thought maybe you didn’t mind leaving.  You seemed to want so much to go, I thought you might not really miss me.”

“Of course I’ll miss you, you fool,” muttered Poe.  “But I have to go, and dwelling on leaving you will just make it harder for both of us.”  He trailed his hand up and down Ben’s side, enjoying the feel of the prince’s smooth skin beneath his calloused fingers.  “I love you, my prince, and you never have to worry that I won’t want to come back to you.”

Ben whispered, “I love you too, Poe.  With all my heart.”  He kissed Poe’s forehead.  “Here, get off me for a minute. . . .  I have something for you.”

“If it’s your ‘lance,’ I don’t know that I can take it again just yet,” Poe teased, but he rolled onto his back so Ben could sit up.

“Hmph, no, not that.”  Ben got out of bed, wobbling a little before he got his balance, and half-walked, half-stumbled into the room where they had bathed.  He moved quickly and self-consciously, and Poe wondered if the prince wasn’t yet quite comfortable with Poe seeing him completely unclothed.  Ben came back a moment later, wiping himself off with a dampened towel in one hand and his other fist closed around something else.

“Um, I thought we should clean up, too,” he explained in a mutter.  Poe laughed and let Ben draw the cloth between his legs; he rather enjoyed Ben’s domestic behavior, even if the prince was embarrassed by it.  _It makes me feel like we’re a family together,_ Poe thought as he watched Ben return the towel to the other room then hurry to get back into bed beside him.  _Like. . . like a husband and wife.  I want to live with him like this, I want to share everything with him._   The poignant realization made Poe feel almost sad, but he tried not to show it.

Still sitting up, Ben took Poe’s hand and opened his fist over it, dropping what he held into the knight’s palm.

“Here,” Ben murmured.  “I want you to put it on your necklace.”  Poe pushed himself up to recline against the pillows so he could see what Ben had given him: a small, pointed, deep purple crystal in a harness of wrapped silver wire with a loop at the top so it could be hung from a chain.

“Ben, it’s beautiful,” Poe whispered.  Ben reached behind Poe’s neck to unfasten the knight’s necklace; then Poe held the crystal so Ben could thread the chain through its loop.

“It’s an amethyst,” Ben explained as he put the necklace back on Poe.  He touched a fingertip to the stone and looked down into Poe’s eyes.  “For protection in battle.  Amethyst is said to promote healing, so perhaps it will help you.  I’m not so sure—I believe more in the magical abilities of humans than of objects.  But even if it’s just a pretty stone, purple is the color of royalty so. . . .”

“So if I wear it, you will always be with me.”  Poe blinked back the tears that suddenly rose to his eyes, and he embraced Ben with his chin on the prince’s shoulder.  “Thank you, Ben.  It _will_ protect me, because it will give me hope. . . and a reminder that I have you to return to.”

“I love you, Poe,” Ben muttered fiercely against Poe’s ear.  “I’ve loved you ever since I was old enough to understand what love means—my heart has always been yours, and it always will be.”

“And mine will always be yours,” Poe promised, “whatever happens.”  He lifted his head to kiss the prince, softly this time.  “Do you want to go to sleep now?  I’m so tired, I think I’d give you a better, ah, jousting lesson if we waited until morning.”

Ben smiled and kissed Poe’s lips, then his nose, then his forehead.  “All right.  You’re under the physician’s orders not to get too tired after all.”  He lay down with his arms still clasped around Poe and the knight’s head resting on his chest.  Poe closed one hand around the crystal hanging just below his clavicle and hoped that it really would grant him protection while fighting for King Skywalker’s kingdom, so he could come home to his prince as soon as possible.

\--

To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

King Skywalker’s letter arrived just before noon the next day.  Poe and Ben had only left the prince’s bedroom some minutes before, having spent the morning in bed—sleeping late, then making love, then sleeping again.  Poe felt some guilt over such lazy behavior, but Ben assured him that Poe needed the rest.  When Poe pointed out how strenuous some of the prince’s demands had been, Ben just laughed.

“I told you that I like you to be rough on me,” he chuckled as they walked together to the dining hall for the noon meal, neither of them having eaten yet that day.

“Obviously,” Poe retorted.  “If anyone had overheard your yelling, they’d have thought I was trying to murder you.”

“Well, you _were_ stabbing me—over and over, with great enthusiasm.”  Ben looked down at Poe and actually grinned.  “With your _lance_.  _Sir_ Dameron.”  As silly as the innuendo was, Poe had to smile back just because Ben looked so happy.  _I’ve never seen him this happy before,_ Poe realized.  _Is it really all because of me?  Can he really love me so much?_

But all that happiness dissolved as soon as they entered the dining hall, for Threepio was there waving his hands around and babbling fretfully as Queen Organa stood beside him, reading what could only be the letter from her brother the king.  Ben’s face fell just as Poe’s heart sank.  The queen glanced up at them.

“Ben, Poe,” she murmured.  “Please go to the throne room.  I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Poe.  He looked up at Ben, but the prince didn’t answer his mother.  He only set his face in a scowl as he turned to leave the hall.

A few minutes later, the queen had joined Ben and Poe in the throne room.  King Solo was absent, and Poe guessed he’d gone hunting that day—perhaps with the thought that his brother-in-law’s letter might be arriving.

“This is from Luke,” Queen Organa told the two young men, not even bothering to sit down as she held up the letter.  “It is as the rumors said, Lady Phasma is advancing on his lands with her army.  When Luke and Rey returned home, they found that one of Phasma’s men had defected and come to warn them.”

“ _What?_ ” Ben interrupted.  “ _That’s_ their source—one of the enemy soldiers?”

“Yes—one who couldn’t abide what his leaders had ordered him to do,” the queen replied.  “He escaped and braved more than a little danger to reach Luke and tell him to prepare for an invasion.  The soldier asked Luke for asylum and was granted it.”

“How does Uncle Luke know the man isn’t lying?” cried Ben, beginning to pace in between his mother and Poe.  “This could all be some trick of this—this Phasma woman’s!  She sends one of her men with false information about where she’ll hit, then attacks in a completely different place!  Or maybe there’s no attack planned at all—is there even any proof that this stranger is really a soldier?”

The queen stopped his tirade with a sigh.  “Luke believes him,” she said, “and you know what his intuition is like.  If Luke has faith in this man, so do I.”  Before Ben could say anything more, Queen Organa turned to Poe.  “Sir Dameron, you and your men should leave for my brother’s kingdom as soon as possible.  I’ll send word for them to eat something then prepare to depart.  Make sure you eat as well, Poe.  You need to keep up your strength.”

Poe bowed.  “Yes, your majesty.  We’ll be ready to leave within the hour.”

“ _No!_ ” Ben cried, so loudly that both Poe and the queen started and turned to stare at him.  “Mother, you _can’t_ —you can’t let him go with such little information!  It could be a trap, or—”

“Ben, this isn’t your decision to make,” Queen Organa snapped at her son.  “I let you help formulate our plans out of consideration for your feelings for Poe, but that was with the understanding that he _would_ go if the situation demanded it. . . and it _does_ demand it.  If Phasma’s army is what it’s said to be, Luke will need the help not only of our numbers, but also of Poe’s leadership.”

“Ben, I _have_ to go,” Poe tried to explain.  “I can’t go back on my word, and besides, I trust King Skywalker’s judgment.  If we don’t stop Lady Phasma’s army now, our home will be in danger—and so will _you_.”

“I don’t care,” Ben growled.  He rounded on Poe, fists clenched at his sides, and shouted, “What if you _die_?  What if they kill you, what then?  Do you think I’d care what happened to me then?”

“You _have_ to care,” Poe retorted, “because you’re not just a man, you’re the _prince_.  You can’t put your entire kingdom in danger because of your feelings—for me or for anyone else!  And you’re not the only one that feels things.  Queen Organa is worried about King Skywalker, I’m worried about Rey, and I don’t want to leave _you_.  But I’m putting my feelings aside to do what I must.”

“Of course you are, because you _always_ do the right thing.”  Ben glared down at the knight then turned his back on both Poe and the queen, muttering over his shoulder, “You forget, I’m not perfect like _you_ are, and sacrifice doesn’t come easy for me.”  The prince stalked toward the doors, away from Poe.

“It’s not easy for me either!” Poe called after him.  “And you’re only making it harder— _Ben!_ ”  But Ben didn’t answer except to slam the heavy wooden doors behind him as he left.  Poe choked back an abrupt, humiliating sob, determined not to start weeping in front of Queen Organa.  The resulting coughing noise he made was embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as tears would have been.

“I’m sorry, Poe,” the queen murmured.  She went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“It isn’t your fault, your majesty,” muttered Poe.  He blinked hard and didn’t dare to look directly at her out of worry that he might cry after all.  _What if something **does** happen to me?_ he wondered.  _What if that’s the last time I see him?_

“I didn’t mean that kind of sorry—although it _is_ my fault you’re in this situation, and I’m sorry for that.  But,” the queen went on with a touch of wryness, “I mean I’m sorry in that I have sympathy for you.  Loving Ben as his mother isn’t easy.  Loving him as a lover—I can’t begin to imagine the difficulty.”

Poe heard himself give a short laugh, although it hardly sounded like his own before he murmured, “It’s just the opposite, though.  Falling in love with him was so easy, I couldn’t stop myself.”  Then Poe realized that Ben’s mother might not want to hear him talk about her son that way, and he forced himself back into the formality of a knight addressing his queen.  “I’ll eat quickly then assemble my men, your majesty.  We’ll wait for you in front of the castle to take our leave.”

“All right.”  When she nodded, Poe started to turn away, but her small hand contracted over his shoulder again.  Poe looked back, and Queen Organa said, “I’ll miss you as well, Poe, and I’ll pray God keeps you safe.  I can never thank you enough for protecting Luke and Rey.  Or—or for loving Ben.  It may not seem so right now, but you’ve brought a lot of happiness to him. . . and to his father and myself as well.”  Poe inclined his head in what was partially a nod and partially a bow, because he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“I used to have certain ideas about the kind of girl I wanted Ben to marry,” the queen went on, “what sort of woman would make a good queen, and what sort I’d want to become my daughter.  But. . . .”  She gave Poe a small but definite smile.  “When you return, if I were to gain a second son instead, nothing could make me happier.”

Poe was stunned into speech and stammered, “Er. . . thank you. . . your majesty.”  He bowed again and mumbled, “I’ll go get ready to depart.”

Although he no longer felt hungry, Poe forced himself to eat a quick meal before he went to his room to gather what few belongings he would take with him; as the queen had pointed out, he needed the strength food would give him.  His room felt small and almost unfamiliar after the nights he’d spent in Ben’s chambers, and Poe hurried to escape the sense of guilt it gave him.

 _No matter what the queen says, I’m only a knight,_ he thought as he packed, _and I’m going where I belong. . . camping outside and fighting with my men, not lying around all morning in a bedroom far fancier than I could ever deserve.  Maybe it’s better like this, leaving so I can’t influence Ben’s actions anymore.  If he won’t act in the best interests of his kingdom, because of me—maybe it’s better if I go._   Poe’s hand drifted up to caress the chain around his neck and the hard lump of the amethyst hidden under his tunic.

 _And he sounded so bitter, calling me perfect. . . .  Maybe he still hates me, a little.  And maybe when I’m gone, he’ll remember that and not want me anymore when I come home— **if** I come home._   For a terrible moment, Poe wondered if death in the service of King Skywalker might be the best he could hope for: Ben would be free of him, and Poe would never have to face the possibility of the prince falling out of love with him.  Then, out of nowhere, he imagined the look Rey would give him if she knew what he was thinking.

“You’re being an idiot, Dameron,” Poe said aloud.  “That’s what she would say.  That and I’ve been spending so much time around Ben, his defeatist attitude is rubbing off on me.”  He finished his packing with rapid efficiency, no longer in danger of weeping, or of giving up.  Death for the sake of love, like what had befallen Ben’s grandmother, wouldn’t help anybody, and Poe knew that _willing_ his own death was the coward’s way out.  **_Everyone_** _who falls in love risks falling out of it again,_ Poe thought, _not just me.  If we all gave up rather than face that risk, the whole world would die out._

Poe slung his pack over one shoulder and left his room, locking the door behind him.  He ran his hands down his sides to check for the short knife he kept in a sheath tied to the right side of his belt and for the small pocket tied to the left which held the vial of medicine the physician had mixed for him. _At least my head feels all right for now,_ Poe told himself, trying to be positive.  _Maybe I won’t have any more trouble. . . but I’ll have the medicine with me, just in case._   Thinking of the medicine made him think of Semele and Agave, and he rather wished he could say goodbye to them.  As he walked through the castle corridors toward the stables, Poe thought, _They were so kind to me, and I think they would be sad if I never came back._   Even though he had little time to spare, that realization made Poe turn his footsteps toward the stairway that led down to the physician’s laboratory.

But when Poe got there, he found it locked, and no one answered his knock on the thick door.  Poe started to turn away, then dropped his pack on the stone floor and crouched to rummage through it until he found the small roll of blank paper and charcoal pencil he’d packed for writing to Ben.  On one sheet of paper, he scrawled, _Thank you for your care of me.  I will always remember your kindness, and I hope your days will always be happy._   The sentiments sounded rather trite, but Poe was no poet and hadn’t the time to think of a more eloquent way to express his feelings.  He signed his name and started to fold the paper, but paused to add what he lacked the authority to ask from anyone else: _If I do not return, please watch over Ben, even if only from afar.  I trust you both to take care of him._   After that, Poe finished folding the letter and wrote the girls’ names on the front before sliding it under the laboratory door.

He hurried back up the stairs with his pack and was almost to one of the rear entrances to the castle, when he heard footsteps behind him and Ben’s voice gasping his name.  Poe stumbled to a stop and dropped his bag again, but before he could turn around, he felt Ben’s embrace enveloping him from behind.

“I was looking for you all over,” the prince panted.  He pulled Poe back against his chest and clung to him, muffling his next words in the knight’s hair.  “I thought maybe you’d left ahead of the others.”

“No, I. . . I was downstairs.”  Poe turned in Ben’s arms and hugged him tightly.  “I thought you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

“Poe—”  Ben caught Poe’s chin in his hand and turned the knight’s face up to his.  The prince’s eyes looked as if he had been crying, or was trying not to.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for what I said—it just _hurts_.”  He bent his head and caressed Poe’s forehead and cheeks as he murmured, “I love you.  I love you so much. . . .”

“I love you too, Ben.”  Poe kissed the prince’s mouth, reaching up to hold his head still as they kissed hard, with desperation.  Finally, Ben lifted his head, hugged Poe one last time, then pulled away from him.

“Fly back to me as soon as you can, little robin,” he whispered.  Even whispering, his voice broke over the words, and his dark eyes swam as they filled with tears.  When Ben turned and literally ran away, Poe knew it was because he didn’t want the knight to see him cry.

Poe was certain he wouldn’t see Ben again before departing, but when Queen Organa came out to bid her knights farewell in front of the castle, Ben came with her.  Mounted on his horse at the head of the troop of knights, Poe heard a faint murmur from some of the men behind him.  He didn’t know if they were remarking on the prince’s presence, but it _was_ unusual to see Ben performing a royal duty such as inspecting the troops.  He did not speak to or even look at Poe as his mother addressed him and the other knights and wished them well; however, when she moved back so the men and horses could take the road, Ben finally turned his eyes to Poe’s.

 _I love you,_ Poe thought, hoping that his own eyes were saying what he couldn’t say aloud in front of his men.  Almost as if he had heard, Ben smiled—a small smile, but a smile nevertheless—and then Poe was the one who had to blink hard and turn away before he wept.  He looked back once more, after his horse was in motion, but Ben was already walking back toward the castle gates.

\--

The journey between the siblings’ kingdoms took an average of twelve hours—a little less for a single messenger on a fast horse, a little more for the company of knights trailed by the wagon filled with their armor and supplies and pulled by heavy draft horses.  The young page, Bartholomew, rode on the wagon, and occasionally Poe fell back to speak with him.  The boy’s eyes lit up in admiration whenever Poe paid attention to him, and in turn, the knight admired Bartholomew’s complete lack of fear at traveling to a new land where he might be put in danger.

Leaving home in the afternoon as they did, they had to stop for the night soon after they passed the halfway point of their journey, and it was nearly noon of the next day when they finally arrived in King Skywalker’s lands.  Poe was tired after the long ride and a night of little sleep, but he shook off his exhaustion as they approached the castle.

They were met by the commander of King Skywalker’s knights, the Sir Antilles Poe had asked about.  As Threepio had pointed out, Antilles was about the same age as the king, and the dark rings under his brown eyes made him appear even older.  His hair seemed to have been brown too at one point, but it was now mostly grey with only his brows left dark.  He was smiling when he greeted Poe, but the younger knight wondered how much of his friendliness came from relief that help had arrived.

“We saw your standard as your men approached—you must be Sir Dameron,” Antilles said, looking up at Poe from where he stood before Queen Organa’s knights.  “King Skywalker said that his good sister was hoping you would agree to come to our aid.”

“Yes, I was glad to come,” Poe told him.  “We all were—we left as soon as we received your king’s letter.  Can you tell me what’s happened since he wrote?”

“I’ll let King Skywalker do that.”  Antilles’s tone sounded grim.  “But please, come stable your horses first, and have your men come in to rest and eat.”

Once the horses had been seen to and the other knights were at rest, Poe washed his face and hands and tried to smooth down his hair before accompanying Antilles to King Skywalker’s throne room.  Seated on his throne, the king was waiting for them, but so was Rey, and her face expressed surprising joy when she saw Poe.

“Poe!  I’d hoped you'd come,” she cried as she hurried over to him.  Rey hesitated a moment when she reached him, but then she embraced Poe, and he hugged her tightly.  He startled himself with how glad he was to see her—both because he now knew she was safe and because something about her reminded him of Ben.

“Queen Organa asked if I would, and of course I wanted to,” Poe assured her.  Rey glanced at her father then, finding him murmuring something to Antilles, turned back to Poe.

“How did Ben take it?” she whispered.

“Not very well.”  Poe heaved a sigh and unconsciously lifted his hand to touch the amethyst crystal through his shirt.

“I was afraid of that.”  Rey looked at the older men again.  “Father doesn’t know about you two—I haven’t told anyone.”

“He’ll know soon enough,” muttered Poe.  “Ben told his parents, kind of unintentionally, and then. . . um, my page. . . he saw us together.  So now all of my men, well—they’re, um, aware.”

“Your page?  Saw you together doing _what_ exactly?”  When Rey arched an eyebrow, Poe flushed and hurried to explain.

“Kissing, Rey—we were only _kissing_ ,” he sighed again.  “And not all of the other knights were exactly thrilled about it, but the ones here with me are still willing to follow my lead.  I have faith in them, Rey,” he added when he saw the slight skepticism remaining on her face.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.  And I don’t see any reason for them to lose _their_ faith in _you_ , just because you were kissing the prince.  Even if he _is_ Ben.”  The princess smirked and put a hand on Poe’s arm, steering him toward her father and Sir Antilles.  “I only want to be sure you won’t be uncomfortable if my father learns about it.”

Poe shook his head no, because he wouldn’t be uncomfortable—but he wondered just how comfortable Rey’s father would be.  Poe didn’t know King Skywalker well at all, but he had always admired the man in his own right, not only as the brother of Poe’s queen.  When Ben was a teenager, he had lived in his uncle’s castle for two years while the king trained him in sword fighting, and Poe hoped Skywalker wouldn’t be angry that a man and not a lady had stolen his nephew’s heart.

“Sir Dameron,” the king greeted Poe when Rey presented him.  “Thank you for coming.  I’m sorry to have to ask for your help, but I’m grateful for it all the same.”

“It is my honor, your majesty.”  Poe bowed, although on the inside, he was fidgeting.  All the greetings and formality were only keeping them from addressing the problem he had come to solve.

“Wedge—Sir Antilles tells me you wanted to know what has happened since I wrote to Leia,” said King Skywalker.  “The answer is ‘not much,’ I’m afraid.  We’ve had no more news, but Wedge has been readying my forces based upon the information we received from Finn, the young man who defected from Phasma’s army.”

“May I speak with him?” asked Poe.  “I’d like to hear what he knows, in detail, to better prepare my own men.”

The king nodded.  “Yes, of course.  He’s a remarkable man, really—and quite taken with Rey,” he added with a little smile that surprised Poe.

“ _Father_ ,” Rey muttered, her tone sounding remarkably like Ben’s.  “He is _not_.”

Poe had to hide a smile of his own as he asked, “So you do trust that he’s telling the truth?”

“Yes.”  The king glanced at his daughter, then at Sir Antilles.  “I believe we can trust him, and so do Rey and Wedge.  I have faith in their judgment.”  Rey’s look of embarrassment morphed into one of pride, and Poe decided it was a good moment to bring up his plan.

“Erm, your majesty,” he ventured, “I did want to ask your permission to. . . pursue a rather unorthodox strategy in meeting this threat.  Queen Organa and Ben—Prince Solo approve of it.”

“Ben?”  Immediately, King Skywalker’s wide blue eyes locked onto Poe’s, and the knight cursed himself for the slip of his tongue—and for mentioning the prince at all.  The king went on, “Leia asked Ben for his input?”

“Yesss. . . after a fashion,” Poe hedged.

“I’m surprised, but pleased he’s finally matured to the point of being useful in such a situation,” King Skywalker admitted; then his eyes moved over Poe before fixing on his face again.  “And I wasn’t aware that you and he were on very good terms.  I know Rey asked you to call her by her given name, but I was under the impression Ben is rather. . . insistent upon being called by his title.”

Poe averted his eyes, unable to keep meeting the king’s appraising gaze.  “Yes, we’re on better terms now than we used to be.”

“I see,” King Skywalker murmured.  “Well, what is your strategy?”  Poe took a deep breath and looked back at the king.

“If Princess Skywalker agrees, I believe it would be in our best interests for me to train her as a knight.”

He heard Rey give a soft murmur of astonishment, but Poe wasn’t too worried about her reaction.  As much as she had taken to jousting, he suspected she would be eager to learn more, and even more eager to help defend her father’s kingdom.  Instead, Poe focused on King Skywalker—the single father whose queen had died long ago and who was rumored to be both indulgent towards and protective of the daughter she had left behind.

The king’s eyes had widened, and his pale skin whitened even further.  When he answered Poe, he spoke slowly.

“You mean. . . you wish to train her, so that she can go to battle?  Against this other lady knight?”

“Yes, your majesty.”  Poe chose his words carefully.  “When you were visiting Queen Organa, I showed Princess Skywalker the rudiments of jousting, and she excelled at it.  I believe that she is capable not only of fighting but of _leading_ some of your forces alongside Sir Antilles.”

“And Leia agrees with you?”  Underneath the king’s rather scraggly beard, Poe saw his throat work as he swallowed.

“Yes, your majesty.”

King Skywalker dropped his forehead into his hand, supported by one elbow propped on the arm of his throne.

“Rey is all I have,” he whispered, and Poe thought the king probably wasn’t talking to him, or even to Rey, but to himself.  “The only one I have left here to love.  And you’re asking me to let her go.”

“Father, please.  I—I want this.”  Rey took a step forward, paused, then went to crouch in front of her father’s throne where she waited until he dropped his hand and looked at her.  Then she went on, “I can’t just sit here and—and _wait_ while that woman comes closer and closer to you, especially not while Poe and all of Aunt Leia’s other men are out there risking their lives for us.  Besides, you _need_ me to do this.  Someone has to lead your forces.”

“But Wedge—” the king began, but Rey interrupted him with an impatient shake of her head.

“Wedge is _old_ , he’s as old as you are!”  When King Skywalker frowned at her impertinence, Rey ducked her head and muttered, “Sorry, Wedge—Sir Antilles.  But. . . well, it’s _true_.”  Poe glanced over at the older knight, expecting him to be offended, but instead, he tilted his head back and laughed.

“It _is_ true.  I’m old, Luke—we both are.  I’m swiftly outlasting my usefulness, but I haven’t yet found a man worthy of serving you as commander.”  He was looking at his king as he spoke, with a look in his eyes that startled Poe more than his laughter had.  But then Antilles turned to Rey and went on, “But I agree with Sir Dameron and your sister—no _man_ is worthy, but your daughter is.  I believe in her, and in Sir Dameron.”

Rey got to her feet and whispered, “Thank you, Wedge.”  Then she stepped back to stand beside Poe again.

“I believe in Poe too,” she told her father.  “I believe that together, he and Wedge can teach me everything I’d need to know.  With their training and what Finn has told me about Lady Phasma’s army, I can help the others, and we can drive her back.”

Finally, King Skywalker lifted his head and looked at the princess and Poe.

“All right,” he murmured before straightening up on his throne and repeating in a louder voice, “All right.  You have my permission, Sir Dameron—and my blessing, Rey.  Take Sir Dameron to meet Finn. . . but perhaps you might wait until after he rests awhile.  I mean you no disrespect, but you look exhausted,” the king told Poe.

“I’m sure I do,” Poe said with a little smile.  “I certainly feel it.”

“Wedge, I’ll trust you to make arrangements for anything Sir Dameron and his men will need while they are with us,” King Skywalker told his commander.

“Yes, your majesty.”  Antilles bowed, but the king just shook his head.

“Oh, don’t call me that,” he sighed.  “You know I don’t like it.  Just because we have a guest. . . and really, Poe—if I may address you that way—with the regard my sister and daughter hold for you, I feel like you’re part of my family.”

“He may be yet,” Rey murmured, and when her father stared at her, she laughed.  “Don’t look at me like that, Father.  _I’m_ not marrying him.  Come on, Poe, I’ll take you to a room you can use.”  His face flushed, Poe bowed to the baffled king and let the princess lead him out of the throne room.

“Rey, I didn’t mean for _you_ to tell him,” Poe hissed as soon as they were alone.  Rey just kept smiling in a self-satisfied way.

“I _didn’t_ tell him.  Father’s intelligent but also a little naïve, even at his age—it will take him a while to put two and two together.  Eventually, he’ll remember your calling Ben by name, and he’ll understand.”

Poe wasn’t so sure King Skywalker would understand, in any sense of the word, but he had already learned that arguing with Rey was a waste of his time.

\--

To be continued


	16. Chapter 16

Once Queen Organa’s knights had rested, Poe and Sir Antilles decided jointly that it was best for them to depart immediately to join King Skywalker’s troops already stationed on the borders of his kingdom.  Poe would stay behind, along with the defector Finn, to give Rey some brief battle training while Antilles traveled with Poe’s men; then the three young people would follow in a few days.

Poe trusted Antilles with the queen’s troops, but he did hate to part from Bartholomew, who looked devastated when he learned that his idolized Sir Dameron would be joining the soldiers later.  Poe reassured the boy that they would be reunited soon, then pulled Antilles aside and asked him to watch out for Bartholomew in particular.

“Of course,” Antilles chuckled, “as long as you watch out for the princess.  It’s not that I don’t think she’s capable of protecting herself—it’s that I’m afraid she’ll barrel headfirst into trouble without thinking things through first.  You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. . . and at least Finn is the cautious sort.”

Poe nodded.  He had only met Finn briefly so far, but he liked the other young man and could see why the Skywalkers had come to trust him.  Finn _was_ cautious; he might even have been called cowardly by some, but Poe felt as if Finn would come through when it counted.  _Especially if Rey’s involved,_ Poe thought with a little smile.  Finn was clearly smitten with the princess.

“Sir Dameron, can I ask a favor of you?” Antilles went on.  His own smile had faded to a serious, almost concerned expression.

“Yes—if you stop calling me Sir Dameron and call me Poe instead,” the younger man insisted.

“All right—and I’m Wedge.”  The smile flickered back over Wedge’s face before he continued, “But I’d like to ask you, for the few days you’ll be here, to watch over King Skywalker too.  My only regret in going to the battlefront is leaving him unprotected.”

“Of course, I’ll guard him with my life,” Poe promised, “but he isn’t exactly unprotected, is he?  He does have bodyguards.”

“Yes, but. . . .”  Wedge looked away from him, back toward the castle.  “That isn’t the same as me being here with him.  I’ll feel better while you’re here, at least, because I know how much Queen Organa trusts you.  I know I can trust you as well.”

Poe swore, “I promise, I’ll protect your king as I would my own queen.”  Still, he was confused by Wedge’s insistence on the matter. . . until he glanced down at the older man’s chest.  Atop the crimson tunic Wedge wore, hung a small, golden amulet on a chain.  A violet cabochon had been set in the center of the amulet.

“Is that an amethyst?” Poe murmured.

“Hmm?  Oh.  Yes.”  Wedge looked down at it.  “For protection.  The stone is supposed to have some magical properties—not that I really believe in that stuff, but I wear it because it was a gift from the king.”  The expression in the older knight’s eyes as he fingered the amulet answered all of Poe’s questions about why Wedge was so obsessed with protecting King Skywalker.

“I have one too—an amethyst I mean.”  Poe slid a finger under his own chain to pull the crystal out from underneath his tunic.  “Prince Solo gave it to me.  It’s not as fancy as yours, but maybe it’ll still do the trick,” Poe said with a grin.

Wedge chuckled.  “Yes, I don’t think the setting matters as much as the stone—or the spirit in which it was given to you.  Although—and you can tell me it’s none of my business if you want—I couldn’t help overhearing some of your men discussing Prince Solo. . . and you.  Is it true—you’re his lover?”

“Erm, well—y-yes, I am,” Poe mumbled.

“You really _are_ a brave man,” Wedge teased him.  “I mean no offense, but I remember what Ben was like when he came here to train with Luke.  Of course, he was a teenager then, but _still_.”  Poe remembered what Ben was like back then too, and laughed.

“He’s a little less antagonistic now.  A _little_.  But. . . I love him, dearly,” Poe added in a murmur.  “It was difficult for me to leave him, but I knew I had to if I wanted to protect him.  I know you feel the same way about leaving King Skywalker.”

“Oh, but. . . .”  Wedge’s face colored slightly.  “The situation isn’t quite the same.  We’re not—I’m not his. . . his lover.”

“Oh!  I’m sorry, I—I thought—” Poe stuttered, feeling his own face heat up in embarrassment.  “I’m very sorry.  I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“It’s all right.  Please, don’t be embarrassed.”  Wedge’s uncomfortable expression faded, and he smiled again.  “I’m sure that when you’re in love, you see love everywhere else as well.  Sadly, we can’t all be fortunate enough to be so favored by our lieges.”  He spoke lightly, but Poe caught a hint of yearning in his words.

_He **is** in love with Rey’s father,_ Poe realized, even as he laughed off Wedge’s comment and they rejoined the other knights to prepare for their departure.  _Since when?  How many years has he loved King Skywalker in vain?  The same could have happened to me. . . ._   For the first time, Poe understood just how fortunate he really was.

Still, Poe thought the king’s embrace was deeper and held longer than was absolutely necessary when he said farewell to Wedge as Antilles departed with Queen Organa’s knights, an hour later.

“Take care, Wedge,” King Skywalker murmured as he let go of the knight.

“Yes, your majesty.”  Wedge bowed to him before turning away.

That evening, Poe wrote a letter to Ben, knowing that he might not have much time for correspondence—or a reliable way to dispatch it—once he left for battle himself.  He told the prince about his journey to the Skywalker kingdom and his plans for the next few days; then Poe pondered what else to write.  There was so much he wanted to say to Ben, but Poe was leery of putting it in writing.  Even a sealed letter might be intercepted and read.

Finally, Poe wrote, _I miss you terribly, my raven.  I’ve thought of you constantly since I left you, and I long to return to you.  Please write something to me so that I can imagine your beautiful voice speaking your words.  I love you with all my heart,_  
Your little robin,  
Poe

Reading back over the letter, Poe thought he sounded a little melodramatic—and more than a little lovesick—but he decided not to change anything, and sealed it with a drop of wax.

The next morning, Princess Rey Skywalker began her training.  _Although calling her a “beginner” isn’t quite accurate,_ Poe thought as he watched her sparring with Finn.  King Skywalker had already trained his daughter well in hand-to-hand combat, as Rey had proven when she defeated Ben in their fencing tournament.  Besides her sword, Rey could also wield a pike and, thanks to Poe’s jousting lessons, a lance.  Really, all she needed was a bit more practice in fighting on horseback and some instruction on how to command an army.  Much of the latter involved study of the terminology involved, and Rey spent the afternoon in her father’s library, while Poe and Finn sat in the hall outside.

“What made you decide to defect from Lady Phasma’s army?” Poe asked Finn.  “King Skywalker said in his letter that you disagreed with what you were ordered to do.  So you didn’t think it was right for her to try to conquer other lands?”

“More or less,” mumbled Finn, although he looked a bit embarrassed.  “That isn’t all though.  I mean. . . I can understand Lord Hux’s desire to expand his territory.  King Skywalker, and your queen too, they must have done the same thing at one time, or else their father did, to build their kingdoms.  But it’s _how_ Hux and Phasma have done it. . . _what_ they do.”  He frowned and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap.

“What is it that they’ve done?” Poe prompted when Finn didn’t show any signs of wanting to continue.

“Phasma absolutely slaughters anyone who resists or stands in her way,” Finn finally muttered.  “Whole settlements—women and children as well as the men.  And not women like _her,_ not warriors, but those who don’t know how to fight back.”

Poe was startled to learn that a woman would use such tactics, although he scolded himself for his surprise a moment later.  _Queen Organa and Rey are as shrewd and resourceful as any man,_ he thought, _so it stands to reason that a woman could commit just as much evil, too._

“I don’t know if she’s only acting on Hux’s orders, or if he’s given her free rein to do as she pleases,” Finn went on.  “But no matter whose idea it is, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  The last time Phasma ordered us to attack a village, I refused.  I snuck away from camp before she could discipline me, and I decided—I decided she had to be stopped.”

“So you came to King Skywalker for help?” Poe asked, and Finn nodded.

“I knew Hux had his eye on the outer reaches of this kingdom—and there’s no way I could have done anything to strike back against Phasma on my own.  I was afraid King Skywalker would refuse and drive me away, if he didn’t kill me outright, but I didn’t have much choice.  I don’t know how to survive on my own, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Poe gave an incredulous laugh and shook his head.  “Lord Hux must be more fearsome than I realized if you think King Skywalker would behave _that_ way.  Why did you think he would do such a thing?”

“Because I was the enemy,” murmured Finn.  “Why _should_ he trust me?  And. . . I look different.  I look different from him, and you, and everyone else here.”  Finn shrugged, then shot Poe a tentative smile.  “But I was wrong.  Almost everyone has been kind to me—King Skywalker, and Sir Antilles, and the princess.  And you.  You all trusted me—and _I_ wouldn’t have trusted me, if I was in your place.”

“Well, you brought the king valuable information,” Poe ventured, but he was thinking about what else Finn had said, about looking different.  True, Poe had never met anyone before whose skin was as dark as Finn’s, but once Poe got past the initial shock of seeing Finn, he hadn’t thought much about it.  Poe had been self-conscious about his own skin color—before Ben began to tell Poe how beautiful he found it, at least—so he could understand a little of Finn’s anxiety.

After a moment’s consideration, Poe said, “And I think Rey, at least, _likes_ the way you look.  She isn’t always the most approachable girl, but she certainly has warmed up to you.”

Poe actually heard Finn gulp with embarrassment before he stammered, “That’s ridiculous.  She likes _you_ , I’ve seen the way she smiles at you and acts around you.  Which, I mean, I can understand.  You’re very handsome, and she’s very beautiful, so. . . .”  He seemed to have gotten distracted by thoughts of Rey’s beauty, and he trailed off before finishing, “I don’t know if a knight can marry a princess, but if you can, you might be a king someday.”  Poe chuckled, and when Finn gave him a somewhat hurt look, the knight hurried to reassure him.

“Finn, I’m afraid you’re pretty far off the mark.  Rey is my friend, but that’s all—I have someone at home.”

“Really?”  Finn’s eyes brightened.

“Really!” Poe laughed.  “Although I don’t believe there’s any precedence of knights marrying royalty, unfortunately.”  _Unfortunately indeed,_ he added to himself.

“What’s she like?” Finn asked after a moment during which he might have been contemplating the now-unattached Princess Skywalker, judging from the dreamy look on his face.

“What’s who like?”

“Your lady.  The one you have at home.”  Finn failed to noticed Poe’s flush as he went on, “Is she royalty?  And does that mean you can’t marry her?  What are you going to do?”

“I. . . .” Poe began, then trailed off as he realized he had no idea how to respond.  As much as he liked Finn, he didn’t know how the soldier would react to finding out that Poe was in love with another man.

Finally, Finn saw that Poe was distressed, and he mumbled, “Uh, am I being rude?  Sorry, I don’t really know how to act around. . . courts and all.  I thought it was all right to ask.”

“No, no, you’re not being rude!” Poe reassured him.  He still hesitated, until he realized that Finn would likely find out about him and Ben via gossip sooner or later.  _Better I tell him myself, before he hears rumors,_ Poe decided.

“It’s only that I don’t—I don’t have a _lady_ ,” he explained.

Finn’s eyes widened.  “Is she a—a harlot?”

Poe burst out laughing again and said, “No!  Finn, I mean that—that the person I love is a man.”

Finn’s eyes remained wide as he murmured, “ _Oh_.”  Poe’s amusement faded, and he bit his lip.

“Do. . . you think that’s strange?” he asked when Finn didn’t say anything else.  “One of my knights, he refused to follow me on this mission, because I’m not. . . not a real man.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Finn snorted immediately.  “Of course you’re a real man.  From what everyone here says about you, you’re one of the bravest men to ever become a knight!”  Poe felt like his relief must be visible on his face, and Finn gave him an embarrassed smile when he saw it.  “I, well, I do think it’s a little strange—not _bad_ , just strange.  You’ve really chosen a man over Princess Skywalker?”  Finn leaned forward with a look of amazement so intense, Poe found himself smiling again.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well. . . then if you don’t think my question’s rude, you still need to answer it!  Who is he?” Finn persisted.

Poe felt a warm sensation in his chest, and a bit of pride, as he confessed, “Queen Organa’s son—Prince Solo.”

“ _Really?_   The _prince?_   So _that’s_ why you’re interested in knights marrying royalty!” Finn chuckled.  “I wonder if they can, and if a prince can marry another man!  I suppose if anyone could, a _prince_ could.”  Now that Finn had recovered from his initial surprise, he was his usual loquacious self.  “But wait, he’s Princess Skywalker’s cousin, right?  Ben?  She told me he’s disagreeable and rude and—”  He stopped short, embarrassed all over again.  “Um, sorry.  I guess I shouldn’t say that about your. . . your lover.”

“You can say it.”  Poe was holding back another laugh as he raised an eyebrow at Finn.  “Rey’s right.  Ben _is_ disagreeable and rude sometimes, but he can also be charming and courteous when he wants to be.  He just. . . doesn’t let others see the good side of him all that often.”  His voice fell to a murmur as he added, “He didn’t let _me_ see that side for years and years.”

“But you really do love him, don’t you?” Finn observed.  “And. . . you miss him, I can tell.  It must have been hard for you to leave him and come here.”

“It was,” Poe said, “but I did it for him as much as for King Skywalker.  I want to protect Ben, no matter what happens to me, and that means keeping Lady Phasma’s forces far away.  If she were to take this kingdom, Ben’s would be next, and he could be in danger.”

“I guess you’re right,” Finn muttered; then he brightened up.  “But don’t worry—Phasma’s not _going_ to take this kingdom, or anyone else’s!  We’re going to stop her, you and me and Rey!  . . . I mean, Princess Skywalker.”

“Damn right we are!” Poe agreed with a smile.

\--

A messenger from Queen Organa arrived just as Poe, Finn, and Rey were preparing to leave for the battlefront, a couple days later.  Besides a letter from the queen to her brother, the messenger carried one to Poe, from the prince.  Just touching the folded paper, and seeing his name written in Ben’s handwriting on the front, made Poe’s heart both race and yearn.  He tucked the letter into his tunic without opening it, to read later.

The three waited to depart until King Skywalker had read his sister’s missive, but she communicated nothing of importance to their mission.  The king bid farewell to Poe and Finn—charging both to take care of Rey, although she complained about it—then embraced his daughter.  Rey looked embarrassed and assured her father that she would be fine, but Poe did catch her wiping her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

“Sir Antilles has been instructed to wait with Poe’s men until you arrive,” King Skywalker told them.  “Then he and Rey will travel northward to join my own forces.  Finn, you will stay to assist Poe.”

Finn’s face fell when he heard that he wouldn’t get to remain at Rey’s side, but he bowed with a mumbled, “Yes, your majesty.”

“It’s just as well,” Rey whispered to Poe.  “Finn’s driving me insane—he keeps acting as if I can’t take care of myself!  At least Wedge won’t treat me like I’ll break if my horse stumbles.”  Before Poe could say anything in Finn’s defense, King Skywalker cast the princess a sharp look, then gestured for her to come forward again.  Instead of scolding her, though, he handed her a letter of his own, folded and secured with his royal seal.

“Give this to Wedge, please,” King Skywalker told Rey.  “It contains further instructions for him.”

“Yes, Father.”  Rey fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot as she tucked the letter into the sash she wore around her waist.  “We really need to leave now—we’re already later getting started because of that letter from Aunt Leia.  _And_ the one from Ben,” she added with a sideway look at Poe, who flushed.

“All right, go then,” her father said with a tired chuckle.  “Be careful, all of you.  Send word back as soon as you can.”

After they had finally been allowed to depart, they set off on horseback for the location where Poe’s knights would be waiting for them, a half-day’s ride away.  Rey trotted her chestnut mare up to where Poe was riding, a little ahead of the others.

“I wonder what this letter for Wedge says,” Rey mused.  “Maybe I’ll open it and find out—it might be important information we need to know!”

“Rey, you shouldn’t,” Poe groaned.  He had been about to read his own letter, and he tried not to show his annoyance at being interrupted.  “It’s sealed.”

“Yes, but the king sealed it, and I’m the princess, so I’m practically the king!”  She smirked at the look Poe gave her.  “It’s a thing when you’re a monarch.  The king is the state, and the state is the king.  So my father is the same thing as his kingdom, and if I’m going to be queen one day, _I’m_ the same thing as the kingdom, and if we’re both the kingdom, we’re the same person, and I can read his letter!”

“I’m glad Ben doesn’t go in for that,” Poe muttered.  “If he were the state, the state would be grouchy and unpredictable. . . and I’d be sleeping with it.  Sounds deuced uncomfortable.”

“Ugh, don’t be crude,” Rey sniffed; then she glanced back at Finn, who was listening to their banter with both a smile and a wistful expression on his face.  Rey hissed at Poe, “Does that mean you told Finn about you and Ben?”

Poe nodded.  “He would have found out anyway when we get to the front—and besides, it’s not a secret.  I’m not ashamed about it.”

Rey rolled her eyes and sighed, “I never said you should be, Poe, at least not about being with another man.  About being with Ben, specifically. . . maybe.  What did he have to say in his letter, anyway?”

“I don’t know yet,” Poe growled, “because I haven’t had a chance to read it.  And whatever you think about your right to read your father’s letters, you are most definitely not Ben, so I’m going to read it in _private._ ”

“Fine, be that way.”  Rey made a face at him, then relaxed into a smile.  “And of course I’m not really going to read Father’s letter either.  It’s probably a bunch of thinly-disguised romantic nonsense anyway.”

Poe stared at her.  “Romantic. . . ?”

“Yes, Father’s hopelessly in love with Wedge.  Haven’t you noticed?”  Rey’s smile grew at Poe’s incredulous expression.  “He has been for as long as I can remember.  But he’s too shy and set in his ways to say anything, and Wedge is too dense and set in _his_ ways to realize it, and they’re probably both going to live out their days as liege and knight like a couple of idiots when they could be very happy together instead.”  She pursed her lips and sighed, “At least you and Ben came to your senses before you got _old_ , even if it took you nearly getting your head knocked off.”

“Why don’t you say something to them?” Poe asked when she finally let him speak.  “I think Wedge loves your father, too.  Why don’t you talk to King Skywalker and tell him?”

“ _You’re_ the one saying I should mind my own business,” Rey retorted.  “But really, it isn’t my place.  I could try to set you and Ben straight, because he and I are of equal station, and you’re. . . well, below me, technically.”

“Not just technically,” Poe pointed out wryly, but she ignored him.

“Also, we’re all close to the same age.  But Wedge is so much older, I have to treat him with more respect than I show for _you_ —and Father. . . he would be both embarrassed and insulted if I tried to tell him what to do.”  Rey sighed and shrugged.  “All I can do is hope that one day they’ll wake up, before it’s too late for them to be together.”

“I guess so,” Poe murmured.

“But you wanted to read Ben’s letter, and I’m sure it’s nauseatingly insipid, so I’ll leave you to yourself, Sir Dameron,” Rey declared.  “Just try not to get so wrapped up in your daydreams that you fall off your horse again.”

When she finally drew back her horse to ride beside Finn—who, Poe thought, was probably overwhelmed with everything he’d likely overheard—Poe took out Ben’s letter and held it in one hand along with his reins, as he broke the wax seal with the other.  The letter was fairly brief and, as Poe might have expected out of Ben, even more melodramatic than Poe’s had been.  But the words made Poe smile even as they made him long for the lover who was falling farther and farther behind him with every mile Poe rode.

_I can hardly stand to be awake without you here,_ Ben concluded, _because every thought is of you and how much I miss you.  But I know you would scold me if I slept all the time, so I’ve been assisting Mother as much as I can.  Or trying to.  She’s thrown me out of two audiences already.  She says I’m not patient enough with the petitioners, but really, I’m only distracted by longing for you, my love._

_Fly back to me soon, little robin.  I love you._

_-Ben_

Poe read the letter twice, then folded it back up and returned it to his tunic, beside the amethyst crystal he wore and next to his heart.

\--

To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uggggh I'm sorry this is so short, but I have writer's block on EVERYTHING *flail* So I'm posting what I have and hoping I'll get inspired again :P

When Poe, Rey, and Finn drew near to the area where Poe’s men would be waiting, Wedge rode out to meet them.  Poe hadn’t been expecting that, nor had he expected the grim news Wedge brought.

“Yesterday, one of our scouts saw Lady Phasma’s army approaching,” Wedge called as soon as the three were within shouting distance.  He waited until they drew up to him before continuing, “The scout rode back as quickly as he could, but they may reach us very soon.  I’ve sent a rider after my own men, to bring them back here as long as there’s no threat elsewhere.  They probably won’t arrive before Phasma’s troops, though.”

“Damn,” muttered Poe.  “I should have gotten here sooner.”

Rey glanced at him and said, “I’m sorry.  If I hadn’t taken so long to train—”

“No, Rey, it’s not your fault,” Poe assured her with as much of a smile as he could manage.  “We had no way of knowing.  Come on, we need to get to camp quickly.”

At the soldiers’ camp, the page Bartholomew was overjoyed to see Poe again, and more excited than frightened about the impending battle.  Poe tried to be patient with him, remembering how he had felt exactly that way in his early years as first a page, then a squire.  Rey delivered her father’s letter to Wedge, who gave no indication if it contained anything other than the instructions King Skywalker had mentioned; but by then, all three of the younger people had more important things on their minds.

Poe spent what little daylight remained preparing his men for the anticipated battle, but once darkness fell, he could do nothing but wait.  The troops bedded down in a couple of large tents after Poe set a watch and warned the others to be ready to get up and fight at a moment’s notice.  Poe, Finn, Rey, and Wedge shared the smaller commanders’ tent, although Finn offered to stay with the other soldiers instead, after a nervous glance at Rey.  Poe assured him that he had earned the right to sleep in relative comfort; secretly, though, Poe wanted to spare Finn the awkwardness of spending the night with a troop of strange men—men who might not trust him.

Despite all agreeing that they needed to rest, none of them could sleep.  Finally, they admitted it and sat up talking instead.  Finn related how he had first come to the Skywalker kingdom—and his first encounter with Rey, after she and her father returned from their trip to Queen Organa’s anniversary celebration.

“She tried to kill me,” Finn declared, although Rey protested.

“I wasn’t trying to _kill_ you,” she clarified.  “Just. . . hurt you, if you tried anything funny.”

Finn went on to Poe, “I just was heading down to the kitchen to get something to eat, and she ran at me with a lance.  King Skywalker had already given me free rein to wander around the castle, but Rey here didn’t trust me.”

“I thought you were spying!” Rey argued.  “You were nowhere _near_ the kitchen, you were going towards the _library_.”

“I was lost, okay?” groaned Finn.  “You can’t expect me to find my way around a huge castle after I’ve been there for a _day_.”  Poe laughed and decided to interrupt the bickering before it turned into a real argument.

“Whatever you were doing, you’re lucky Rey let you live,” Poe teased.  “She’s the best swordfighter in this kingdom, or any other, probably.  She even defeated Ben—er, Prince Solo when they competed.”

“To be fair, I think he was distracted,” Rey said modestly.  “In fact, Poe. . . he kept looking over at _you_.”

“No, he didn’t,” mumbled Poe, but Rey only laughed.

“That was my first clue that he was in love with you,” she declared.  “He was so eager to show off for you!”

Eventually, the conversation shifted away from Poe’s love life, but only a few minutes later, Finn began to tease Poe about his sleeping attire: the long sleeved, lace trimmed shirt Ben had given him.

“Do you always wear such fancy clothes to bed?” Finn chuckled.

“No,” Poe retorted, then murmured as he ran his hands down his arms, “It’s Ben’s.  He gave it to me.”

“He gave you this too, didn’t he?” Rey asked.  She leaned forward to touch the amethyst crystal hanging from Poe’s necklace.

“Yes,” Poe said with a fond smile he couldn’t hide.  “He said that a legend claims amethyst offers protection in battle, and. . . and healing powers.”  At those last words, Rey lifted her eyes to meet Poe’s.

“Your head wound isn’t healing?”

“Head wound?” both Wedge and Finn asked at once.  Finn just looked concerned for Poe’s health, but Poe didn’t like the expression of intense worry that suddenly came over Wedge’s face.

“I fell off my horse and hit my head recently,” Poe muttered to the men, then said to Rey, “The wound has almost completely healed, but. . . sometimes I do still have headaches and vertigo, but only when I’m upset.”

“And you didn’t think that riding into battle might upset you?” grumbled Wedge.

Poe protested, “I’ll be fine.  I have some medicine from Queen Organa’s physician, in case my head starts bothering me.”

“Yes, you’ll be fine,” Rey repeated with a pointed look back at Wedge; then she turned to Poe again and looked down at his pendant.  “But is that all Ben said—that the crystal was for protection?”

“Well, and that he doesn’t necessarily believe that amethyst has any special powers.”  Poe shrugged and smiled down at the crystal.  “It’s just to remind me of him, the way his shirt does.”

Rey sat back and smiled too.  “It’s not just that.  Maybe he was too shy to tell you, but in my family, it’s a sign of true love to give someone a protective amethyst.  My grandfather gave one to his wife before she died, and Aunt Leia gave one to Uncle Han—Heaven knows he probably needs it,” she added.

“No, Ben didn’t tell me any of that,” Poe murmured, feeling his cheeks warm in a slight blush.  “So. . . this means I’m his true love?”

“I think that’s already been established,” Rey pointed out, “but yes, that’s the real reason he gave it to you.  My father always told me that once the giver had bestowed the stone to whomever he truly loved, it would form a bond between them, and the giver would know where his beloved is, and whether he or she was happy or in danger.”  She shrugged.  “I don’t really believe in magic, so that part of it seems a little far-fetched, but the sentiment is there, regardless.”

Poe, however, _did_ believe in magic after experiencing the effects of Ben’s spell on his injury.  _And I told him that it made me feel like he would always be with me,_ Poe thought as he closed his hand over the crystal and held it until it warmed with the heat of his palm.  _If King Skywalker is right, then Ben **will** be with me—he’ll know how I’m feeling, and if I’m safe._

Then he remembered that Sir Antilles wore an amethyst as well—and that Rey hadn’t mentioned her father when relating the family tradition.  Poe glanced over at the older knight, but Wedge had withdrawn from the others and was occupied with bedding down for the evening.

Their conversation wound down soon after, and Poe crawled under the rough blanket he’d brought to make his own bed.  Once he was sure he was concealed from the others’ sight, he brought the amethyst crystal to his lips and kissed it.

_I love you, Ben,_ he thought, _and I hope you can feel that._

\--

Despite her best efforts, Rey simply couldn’t fall asleep; she was too concerned about what the next day might bring.  Finally, she got up quietly so she wouldn’t disturb the sleeping men, and crept out of the tent.  The rest of the camp was still and silent, and the two soldiers left keeping watch didn’t even notice her.

_That’s reassuring,_ the princess thought with a roll of her eyes.  She walked to the edge of the camp and gazed in the direction from which the enemy troops should approach.  Rey would never admit it to anyone, but the impending battle worried her.  Not that she doubted the abilities of either her father’s or her aunt’s soldiers, but if Finn’s information was correct, Lady Phasma’s army was enormous and well-trained.

Besides that, Rey had heard other rumors too—rumors of some supernatural element to the enemy army.  Finn had never mentioned such a thing, and as Rey told the others, she didn’t believe in magic.  Nevertheless, rumors had to start _somewhere_ , which meant that Lady Phasma probably had some powerful soldiers under her command.

As the princess stood there fretting, she heard someone approaching behind her, shuffling through the grass.  Rey cast a sharp look over her shoulder, then relaxed when she saw Wedge coming toward her.

“Princess,” Wedge murmured, and Rey turned around to face him.

“Yes?”

“Here.”  He thrust his hand out; from it, his amethyst pendant dangled by its chain.  “You should take this.”

“What?  Why?”  Rey’s brow furrowed as her eyes flicked from the pendant back to Wedge’s face.

“I don’t—I have no right to it,” Wedge mumbled.  When Rey didn’t move to take the necklace, he let his hand drop, still clutching the chain.

“Why not?” Rey demanded.  “Father gave it to you!”

“Yes. . . when you were still a little girl, a year after your mother died.  But I never knew—”  He stopped and started over.  “I shouldn’t have anything of hers.  It belongs to you.”

“What do you mean ‘something of hers’?” asked Rey.  “It was never hers.”  Wedge stared at the princess, then looked down at the necklace in his fist.  In a slightly softer tone, Rey went on, “When I turned twelve years old, Father gave me my mother’s things—her clothes and jewelry.  He’d saved them for me.  Not that I’d ever want to wear the dresses,” she muttered, “but I’m glad to have them all the same.  Anyway, he gave me my own necklace then.”  She tugged it out from under her tunic and showed it to him.  “But my mother never had one.”

“I don’t understand,” muttered Wedge.  “Why didn’t he?  She was Luke’s wife.”

“Yes, but she wasn’t his true love.”  Rey smiled, a bit mischievously, at the stunned expression that passed over Wedge’s face.  She went on, “I always knew my parents loved _me_ , but not each other, not like _that_.  I mean—that there was something different about them and the way they acted, compared to how other couples were. . . our servants who were married, for instance.  When Father started discussing _my_ marriage—”  Rey’s nose wrinkled.  “—he told me about how theirs was arranged.  He _respected_ my mother, and they were even friends.  Father hoped he would fall in love with her eventually, but it never happened.  I think that’s why when I told him I didn’t want to get married, he gave in so quickly—he didn’t want to put me in the same situation.”  Rey looked down at her own necklace and trailed a finger along the length of the crystal.

“Maybe I _will_ fall in love someday, and give this to someone,” she said.  “But if I get married, it’s going to be because I want to, not because I’m forced to.”

“Rey,” said Wedge after a moment, “I don’t. . . I still don’t understand.  Why did Luke give this to _me_?”

Rey sighed and reached out to grasp Wedge’s necklace.  She tugged it free of the knight’s hand, then reached up and put it over his head, draping it around his neck once more.

“Because you’re his true love.”  Rey stepped back and smiled at him.  “Wedge, he’s _always_ loved you.  I don’t know how _you_ feel, and I know Father doesn’t want to impose his feelings on you.  But he loves you very much.”

Wedge looked down at his pendant but said nothing more.  After a second, Rey realized he was probably embarrassed about the whole thing, whether he believed her or not, and she decided not to press the issue any further.

“I’m going to try to get some rest,” she told the knight.

“Sleep well, princess,” Wedge mumbled.  He made no move to follow when Rey turned to go back to the tent.

_I hope I didn’t just mess things up,_ she thought as she crept back inside, stepped over Finn—who was snoring—and lay down in the corner she’d staked out for herself.  _Maybe I should have just taken the stupid amethyst back—Wedge doesn’t need to be distracted right now.  And it’s not like they haven’t been pining for each other for years anyway. . . a few more weeks being oblivious wouldn’t have hurt him._

But then Rey thought of her cousin, and of how happy Ben had seemed that afternoon in the field as he lay with his head in Poe’s lap: _Ben had always been miserable, for as long as I can remember. . . miserable and lonely.  I’ve never before seen him so content as he was with Poe that afternoon.  They only had a little time together before Poe left to come fight for Father—but even that short time made such a difference.  Father and Wedge deserve that happiness too,_ Rey decided. _Even if I have to drag them together kicking and screaming._

\--

To be continued


	18. Chapter 18

As they all had both feared and expected, the first wave of Lady Phasma’s troops reached them the next day.  The sun had barely lifted itself past the horizon when one of the lookouts came riding back into camp, bellowing that he had spotted the enemy’s approach.  Even so, the initial battle was not a difficult one for the combined army of Skywalker and Organa troops.  In fact, the division Rey had taken charge of was the one which ultimately stopped that first wave of Phasma’s soldiers.  Over the next two days, Poe, Wedge, and Rey’s troops drove back the invaders and forced them to retreat past the point of the first encounter.  The defending troops suffered only a small number of casualties and no fatalities; the same could not be said for Phasma’s men.

But then, on the third day of battle, everything changed.

At dawn, Poe had joined Rey on the highest point she’d been able to find, a small hill which allowed her to see over their own troops and out into Phasma’s ranks beyond.

“I believe that’s Lady Phasma herself,” Rey told Poe, pointing to a tiny figure in shining armor far away.  She sat on a white horse under the banner of Lord Hux, but other than that, Poe could not make out any distinguishing features.  His eyes drifted from her to the oceans of troops which lay between her and them.

“Where did she find all those men?” he muttered.  “We outrank them in power and skill, but they far outstrip us in numbers.”

“We don’t need numbers,” Rey retorted.  “We have every other advantage—home territory, superior training. . . not to mention something more solid to fight for.”  When Poe didn’t reply, the princess shifted on her horse to study him.  “You don’t agree?”

“Well. . . .”  Poe shifted in his saddle, a little leery of disagreeing with her since she _was_ the princess.  “Our forces do have superior training, for certain.  But this is unfamiliar terrain for my men, and—and do you really believe that being on the side of right guarantees a victory?”

Rey rolled her eyes and replied with rather Ben-like impatience, “That’s not what I _said_.  Of course I don’t believe that.  What I said is that we have something more worthy to fight for.”

“How is that any different?”

“These men are defending their homes,” she murmured as she looked away from him and back out at the troops below them.  “At least, Wedge’s are, and yours must know that if Phasma takes these lands, their own homes will be next.  Her soldiers are fighting a war of expansion, but their own homes and families aren’t under attack.  For all we know, they may not even be men from Lord Hux’s realm.  Heaven only knows how a place so small could produce so many soldiers.  I believe they’re probably mercenaries hired from other places.”

It did seem more likely, but Poe countered, “If Hux’s kingdom—or city-state, whatever one calls it—is so small, how can he afford to pay this many soldiers for hire?”

“That’s what I don’t know.”  Rey frowned and fidgeted with the reins in her hands.  “Perhaps he has a—a sponsor, someone fronting the cost of his campaign.”

“But _who?_ ” Poe persisted.  “Who would invest that kind of resources on someone else’s wars?  Why wouldn’t he conquer these other kingdoms himself rather than let Hux take them?”

“I don’t _know_ , Poe!” Rey growled in frustration.  “Finn told me more about Hux.  He’s a bastard, born out of wedlock and driven from his father’s kingdom when he challenged the rightful heir’s claim to the throne.  A faction of soldiers loyal to him followed, including Lady Phasma.  The city-state he controls now was once a territory of his father’s.  Hux settled there and took possession of it, and I suppose his father considered it a fair price to pay to be rid of him.”

“Until he started trying to expand?” Poe asked.  “Has he made a move on his father’s lands?”

“That’s the odd thing,” said Rey.  “He hasn’t.”  She chewed on her lower lip a moment, lost in thought, then added, “Perhaps his father is the one backing him, keeping the bastard son busy so he won’t cause trouble?  Maybe he even feels guilty, and this is how he assuages that guilt.”

“Sounds like a lovely man,” muttered Poe.  He started to wheel his horse aside, intent on rejoining his men and preparing for the day’s onslaught, but Rey stopped him before he could even bid her goodbye.

“Poe?  There’s. . . something else troubling me.”

Poe didn’t like that much, yet he tried to keep his voice light as he asked, “What is it?”

“Some rumors I heard.”  Rey coaxed her horse down to walk beside his, and they descended the hill together.  At first, Poe rather egotistically thought the rumors might be about him and Ben, but Rey said, “There are stories about supernatural things happening around Lady Phasma’s army.”

“Supernatural?” Poe asked.  “You mean like. . . like magic?”

“I don’t even know, they’re that vague,” said Rey.  She stopped her horse at the bottom of the hill, still some distance from the rest of the army, and Poe drew to a halt as well.  Rey went on, “Finn hasn’t even mentioned it, but some of the men spoke of hearing about soldiers who just dropped dead while in combat with Phasma, slain by a foe who could move quicker than any human being.”

To Poe, that sounded like the usual tall tales which sprung up around most any successful army, especially those stories spread by the army’s opponents to offer some excuse for their losses.  But for Rey to even bring up the rumors—not to mention for her to look so concerned—Poe realized she must be truly worried.

So he asked, “Has anyone seen this creature?” instead of dismissing the rumors are pure fancy.  He was surprised when Rey nodded.

“Not many, but a few—or so it’s been said.  Supposedly, it’s shaped like a man, but far quicker, as I said.  Other than that, the stories of its exact appearance vary.  I heard your little Bartholomew telling the other young ones that one of Wedge’s men told _him_ the creature was handsome, like a prince in a fairy story. . . but then he said that it liked to roast small boys over a fire like chickens and eat them whole.”  Rey rolled her eyes and laughed, without much mirth.  “He was probably just trying to scare the poor child, and if I find out who it was, I’m going to throttle him.”

Poe thought she’d probably do it, too.

“But,” Rey continued, “the other stories say the thing is monstrously hideous, like a demon or. . . or a ghost.  But supposedly very few men see it at all.  Most of them just fall over dead.”

“Dead from what?” Poe asked, only half serious.  “Fright?”

Rey looked at him and said, “No.  From knife wounds.  Usually through the heart.”

Poe swallowed hard and croaked, “Oh.”  Somehow, that oddly specific detail made the whole thing seem a little more real.  He suggested, “Perhaps it’s magic, a spell cast by some mage Hux has retained.  Maybe a mage could conjure the illusion of some ghostly. . . _thing_ , and—and use a spell to pierce the victim’s heart.”  Even as he spoke, he realized how ridiculous that sounded.  Why would Hux go to that much trouble to kill men with magic rather than in combat?  Certainly not to start a few crazy rumors.

But Rey dismissed the idea for a different reason: “I don’t believe in magic.”

Poe hesitated, then admitted softly, “I do.”  When she gave him a questioning look, he flushed and whispered, “Ben, he—he’s shown me.  He’s done things to me, with magic.”

“Ugh, I do not care to know what things Ben has _done_ to you, with magic or without it,” Rey declared.

“I didn’t mean _that_ sort of thing,” Poe grumbled.  Rey laughed, although her smile quickly faded.

“Perhaps magic _is_ real, then, but I’m not convinced this mystery man or creature or whatever it is, is just a spell,” she murmured.  “I’m not convinced it’s anything more than a very skillful soldier, either, but I wanted you to be aware of what some of the others were saying.  I’ve told Wedge as well.”

“And Finn?” Poe prompted, but Rey shook her head no.

“He’s nervous enough as it is, and I think if he knew anything about it, he would have already spoken up,” she explained.  “I don’t want to make him worry more than he already is.”

“That’s probably wise,” Poe said.

Poe soon forgot about the rumors Rey had heard; he told himself they were just the tall tales he’d thought them at first, then put them out of his mind.  By the end of the day, though, he was giving them more credence, because Wedge Antilles fell victim to the very kind of attack Rey had described.

Poe was some distance away from Wedge’s troops at the time, but Bartholomew came riding to fetch him, galloping the pony King Skywalker had allotted him faster than Poe had ever seen the rather chubby beast run.  Poe had been about to ride out among his men to fight alongside them, but he reined in his horse and waited for the page to reach him, once he saw the concern and stark fear on the boy’s face.

“S-sir Dameron,” Bartholomew panted, “it’s—it’s Sir Antilles!  He’s been wounded!”

Poe stared at the page.  “Wounded?  In battle?  Was he leading a charge?  I thought—”

“No, no, he was at the very back!” Bartholomew interrupted, his lack of courtesy another signal of how distraught he was.  “No one even saw who struck him, but—but it’s bad, a deep cut on his leg.  Please, Princess Skywalker wants you to come back to the base camp and help her with him.”

“Yes, of course,” Poe muttered.  He left orders with his second in command then rode away after the page.  Thinking out loud, he wondered, “Could one of Wedge’s own men have attacked him?  Maybe there’s a traitor among them.”  At the time, Poe wasn’t consciously thinking of his mistrust of some of _his_ soldiers, the ones who had showed disdain for Poe’s relationship with the prince.  Later, however, he realized that his own fears might have colored his thoughts.

“I don’t think so,” Bartholomew answered.  “I think it was the _ghost_.”

“The ‘ghost’?  . . . Oh.”  Poe frowned and urged his horse on a little faster as he remembered what Rey had told him that morning.  _If whatever attacked Wedge **is** the source of those rumors, he’s fortunate to still be alive,_ Poe thought.

When they reached the base camp, Wedge was indeed still alive and even in fairly good spirits considering how painful his wound must be.  He was lying in the same tent where they’d all slept a few nights before; he explained, haltingly, that he had sustained his injury while he was on horseback and was able to ride back to the camp before he was too weak from loss of blood to stay on his horse.  Fortunately, Rey was there and had Finn with her, and he had carried the smaller commander to the tent where Wedge could recover undisturbed.  One of King Skywalker’s doctors had accompanied his army to attend to any casualties, and he was treating Wedge’s wound when Poe arrived.

“You’re sure you didn’t see who attacked you?” Rey asked as she knelt beside Wedge’s pallet.  From her tone of voice, Poe didn’t think it was the first time she’d asked.

“No,” Wedge insisted.  He shook his head back and forth on the bundled up cloak he was using for a pillow.  “I only had a—a feeling, that eerie feeling you get sometimes of being watched.  I felt like. . . like I wasn’t alone.  I drew my sword, and while I was pulling it out, something struck it.”  Wedge grimaced in pain as the doctor began sewing up the gaping wound in his left thigh, and Poe winced out of sympathy.  He’d never had stitches, and he could only imagine how much they must hurt going in.

When he could continue, Wedge said, “I thought an arrow had—had hit my sword and glanced off it.  But now I believe it must have been a knife.  I think the attacker meant to strike me in the heart, and it was sheer dumb luck that he missed.”  Poe and Rey’s eyes met over Wedge’s prone body, and the princess lifted her brows slightly. Poe could imagine her saying, _What was I telling you?  Now you believe me, don’t you?_

“That doesn’t look like luck to me,” Finn muttered from where he crouched near Wedge’s feet.  He looked askance at the leg wound, then back to Wedge’s strained face.  “If you deflected the first blow, how did this happen?  A second strike?”

Wedge answered, “I suppose.  I was still trying to work out what hit my sword, and then I felt— _that_.”  His voice dropped lower as he confessed, “I’ve never felt such pain in my life.  It’s better now, the princess put a poultice on it before the doctor treated it.”  He gave Rey a wan smile, but she only frowned.

“I wish I could do more,” she murmured.  Poe thought of how Ben’s magic had eased the pain in his own wound and wondered if Rey could possibly have some of the same powers her cousin did.   _Queen Organa thinks she does,_ he remembered.  _If only Rey believed in it, maybe she could help him._   Thinking of his injury reminded Poe of the medicine the queen’s physician had given him, and he pulled the little vial out of its pocket in his vest.

“Wedge, our court physician gave me this before I left,” Poe explained.  “He told me it would help ease my pain if—if I were to get injured.”  That wasn’t what he’d started out to say, but he decided he didn’t want to remind either Wedge or Finn that he’d been wounded too and might not be in top form for battle.

“What is it?” Wedge asked.  His voice sounded more strained than it had before, and his face looked washed out under his dark brows and the two day’s growth of beard on his cheeks.

“I’m not entirely sure.  Some kind of medicine.  But he said just a drop would help with pain, so I’ll give you some—if you think it’s all right,” Poe added, deferring to King Skywalker’s doctor.  The man, who was much younger than the queen’s irascible physician, just shrugged.

“I doubt anything could hurt,” he said, not altogether reassuringly.  “And you two are about the same size, so the dosage shouldn’t be different.”  Poe nodded and uncorked the vial, then leaned over Wedge.

“Open up,” he said.  Wedge smiled faintly and opened his mouth for Poe to tap a single drop of the liquid onto his tongue.  The older man flinched but then relaxed and closed his mouth, then swallowed with a thoughtful look.

“Doesn’t taste as bad as I expected,” he observed.  As Wedge closed his eyes, Poe corked the vial back up and put it in his pocket.  He hadn’t resorted to using it himself yet; he’d suffered only one headache since departing from King Skywalker’s castle, and it was mild compared to his worst.  Poe had decided to save the small supply of medicine for when he really needed it, and now he was glad he’d done so: Wedge might end up needing it far more than Poe did.

“Let him rest,” the doctor advised them as he finished suturing the wound and wrapped his bloody tools in a cloth— _hopefully to carry them off somewhere and clean them,_ Poe thought.  “If he sleeps, all the better.  He’ll have a temporary respite from the pain.”

“I think Poe’s little magic remedy is working,” Wedge put in, without opening his eyes.  “It’s not hurting quite so badly. . . .”

“Good.  Now be still and rest,” Rey scolded him.  She reached out a slender hand to stroke the older man’s hair tenderly, almost as if she were his daughter too.  “I’ll write Father and tell him what happened—”

“No!” Wedge interrupted her, and his dark eyes flew open.  “Don’t, you’ll only worry him.  He doesn’t need to be concerned with me at a time like this.”  Rey scowled and Wedge glared right back until she sighed and relented.

“All right, fine, I won’t tell him.”

Wedge gave her one last, rather mistrustful look, then closed his eyes again.  Rey rolled hers and shook her head at Poe and Finn as she got to her feet.  Poe got up too; as he did so, his eyes fell on the amethyst amulet Wedge still wore.  It had fallen outside his tunic, and looking into the purple stone, Poe wondered if King Skywalker might already know what had happened to his true love.

“You _are_ going to write to your father, aren’t you?” Finn sighed once the three young people had left the tent together.

“Of course I am,” sniffed Rey.  “Wedge’s stubborn martyr act might work on Father, but not on me.  Father needs to know what’s happened, and not just for personal reasons.  Losing Wedge’s command could be a serious setback.”

“I think you should take over for him,” Poe told her.  Rey gave him a startled look, but he persisted, “You have a natural aptitude for it, and anyway, it could be days before your letter reaches the king and he sends orders back to us.”

“Poe’s right,” Finn agreed.  “He can’t command both his and your father’s troops all by himself, and you know they won’t listen to _me_.”

“And you think they’ll all listen to me, instead?” Rey muttered.  She said it facetiously, but Finn nodded.

“Yes, I do.  They all respect you and—and love you,” he murmured.  Rey set her jaw and ground her teeth in thought as she looked out over the camp.  It was mostly deserted with the troops deployed, but soon most would return for the night. . . and they would all know what had happened to Wedge.

_There could be trouble if there’s no one prepared to relieve him,_ Poe thought.  _At the very least, it would be bad for morale. . . ._

“All right,” Rey finally gave in.  “I’ll take over, but I’m _still_ going to write to Father and ask what he wants to do.  I can’t be responsible for—for our entire defense, all by myself!”

“You’re not by yourself,” Finn responded right away.  “You have Poe and me.”  Rey gave him a look that suggested she wasn’t entirely comforted by this fact, but then she smiled.

Turning to Poe, she asked, “Will you write to Queen Organa as well?  She may want to send reinforcements.  And I suppose you’ll enjoy an excuse to send a letter to Ben, as useless as he’ll probably be in an emergency.”

“Yes, your highness,” Poe chuckled.

The three letters left the camp with a messenger before dark.  Poe had kept his missive to the queen brief and factual, and he tried to do the same in Ben’s.  However, he missed Ben with an ache that permeated his whole body; Poe’s longing for his lover was almost a physical pain.  The past few days had been so busy, he hadn’t thought of Ben too often, but remembering Ben’s magic had brought the prince back to Poe’s mind. . . and, true to nature, Ben stubbornly refused to leave.  Finally, Poe gave in and wrote some of what was in his heart.

_I wish you were here.  Sir Antilles’s wound is grave and he is in much pain.  I think you would be able to help calm it, the way you calmed mine.  Also, I am worried.  Rey told me this morning about rumors she’d heard of supernatural soldiers under Lady Phasma’s command.  I did not believe her then, but now I can’t help but suspect that such a creature is responsible for injuring Sir Antilles.  How else could a man like him be struck unawares, if not by something supernatural or magical?  No one here has any experience with magic, or even really believes in it, and I wish you could help us understand it._

_Those are the practical reasons I want you here beside me, but mostly I want you because I am selfish and I miss you.  I want to sleep in your arms at night and feel your lips on my face awakening me in the morning.  I need you to hold me and reassure me with your love.  I carry your letter and wear your amethyst next to my heart, but they can’t compare to the touch of your hand or the feeling of your hair or your scent.  I love you, Ben, I love you so much that sometimes I think I’ll go mad without you._

Poe stopped writing and stared down at the words as if they had appeared all by themselves.  What he’d written sounded melodramatic and hyperbolic. . . yet it was true, every word of it.  Poe decided not to change or redact any of it, and he sent the letter out with the messenger intact.

\--

To be continued


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedge gets sicker, Poe gets kidnapped, and Ben gets angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to judge if there's still interest in this story, and to try to get myself back into this universe. Also since my fluffy fics don't get much love anymore, I'm trying a darker approach.

The next day passed without further incident: no one on the Skywalker side of the battle sustained serious injury, nor did they lose any ground under the princess’s command.  Despite Rey’s concerns, her father’s soldiers followed her orders with no tangible resentment.  Poe supposed that some might have protested being led by a woman if they thought it was a permanent change, but Rey stressed that it was only a temporary solution until instructions from the king arrived.  It probably also didn’t hurt that the opposing army’s commander was female as well, because the troops had had a chance to get used to the idea.

Thus, Poe ended up worrying more about Wedge Antilles than about Rey.  Although of course no one could expect Wedge’s wound to begin healing so soon, every time Poe saw the older commander, he thought Wedge seemed worse.  Rey had made a stack of poultices before departing for the battlefield early that morning, and the physician hardly left Wedge’s side all day; yet when Poe entered their tent that evening after dark, the edges of the stitched wound looked raw and red, and the entire area was fevered.  In contrast, Wedge’s face seemed paler than ever.  Although he didn’t complain about the pain, his first words to Poe were to ask if he might have more of the pain-killing medicine.  Poe assented and was pleased to see the tension in Wedge’s face relax somewhat after swallowing a drop of the liquid.  Nevertheless, the medicine would do nothing toward healing the wound, and Poe didn’t like the worried expression the physician’s face held.

Poe checked in on Wedge the next morning then, finding the commander’s condition unchanged, set out for the battlefield.  Rey had spent the night there—with Finn to guard her, upon which he had insisted—so Poe traveled alone except for Bartholomew, the page.  They had ridden a few miles from the camp with Poe ahead of the boy, when he heard Bartholomew give a shrill cry.

“Sir Dameron!  Sir Dameron, _help_!”

When Poe spun his horse around, he saw the page falling from his own small pony—but Bartholomew never hit the ground.  Instead, the boy seemed to hover in the air, arms and legs flailing as he shrieked and the pony pulled back on its reins. . . reins that Bartholomew wasn’t holding.

“Bartholomew—” Poe began, but then he felt himself tumbling from his own horse, in the grip of something invisible.  He remembered what Rey had told him about the supernatural forces that had killed troops unseen, even as he struggled against whatever held him.  It was strong, strong enough to hold Poe up off the ground as easily as the other invisible creature held the much smaller Bartholomew.

_Are they really ghosts?_ wondered Poe.  He flailed and tried to elbow his captor’s stomach, if it had one, then to kick it, all without success.  _And are they what wounded Wedge?  I have to get Bartholomew away from them—_   But before he could think any further ahead than that, the one that gripped him apparently grew impatient with Poe’s struggling and struck him across the back of the head to subdue him.  The blow was hard enough on its own, but it glanced across the healing remnants of Poe’s existing wound and sent waves of agony rippling through his head.  He heard himself give a sickening, inhuman groan of pain; however, it sounded far away because all of Poe’s senses were already overwhelmed.

When Poe went limp, whatever held him let him go—or rather, it threw him to the ground.  As he landed hard on his hands and knees, his head snapped forward, which only made it hurt worse.  The pain was so intense, it nauseated him, and when Poe tried to get up again, he ended up hunching over to vomit instead.

“Sir Dameron!” Bartholomew yelped in concern.  After he finished retching, Poe rose up on his knees despite the throbbing in his head, still determined to go to the boy’s aid.  Then he felt what could only be a booted foot connecting with his skull and was aware of nothing else after that.

\--

Prince Ben Solo had never been very interested in the mundane, day-to-day duties associated with being royalty, no matter how often his mother tried to explain that they would one day become his responsibility.  Although Ben’s intelligence was more than adequate for all that ruling his kingdom would entail, he lacked both the patience and the tact necessary for the negotiations, the diplomacy, and all the ceremony that went along with being king.

Ben just tried not to think about what would happen when his parents, especially his mother, died and the kingdom fell into his hands.  When he did consider the future, he told himself that he would somehow find assistants who could manage things for him.  His mother, Queen Organa, held out hope that her son would someday mature enough to become responsible—or, barring that, that Ben would choose a consort wise enough to help him down the right path.

Queen Organa even dared to hope that both things were coming to pass when Ben fell in love with Poe Dameron.  She trusted Poe’s judgment almost as much as she trusted his loyalty, and if anything good had come from Lord Hux’s advances on her brother’s kingdom, it was that Ben had finally begun to take his duties as prince seriously, once Poe and the rest of the knights had departed for battle.  The queen knew Ben was likely acting mature for Poe’s sake rather than for the sake of herself and the rest of the Skywalker family, but she decided to take what she could get.

Nevertheless, Ben didn’t adapt to the new tasks he took on right away, especially those which involved dealing with other people.  As Ben told Poe in his letter, Queen Organa had to evict him from two audiences with noblemen of the kingdom for losing his temper, though after that he learned to hold his tongue and pay attention to the proceedings while his mother handled things.  (What she didn’t know was that King Solo told Ben, in private, about how the queen had been nearly as impatient and fiery-tempered as Ben in her youth, and how badly some of their first official audiences as the king and queen had gone.  Ben enjoyed those tales immensely and decided that if his mother could learn to be a proper monarch, so could he.)

One morning, Ben felt particularly irritable without knowing why, but he struggled to keep his composure nevertheless.  He was attending his mother as she met with Angelica, the Mother Superior of a convent located just outside the town surrounding the castle.  Mother Angelica was accompanied by two young novitiates, one of very stern countenance and one who kept casting admiring glances at the prince, only to be kicked surreptitiously in the ankle by the other sister every time she noticed.

Ben, on the other hand, did not notice at all.  His mind was far away, fixed on Poe and wondering if his own unhappy mood meant something was wrong with his beloved.  The amethyst pendant he had given Poe did form a bond between them, as the legend said which Rey had told to Poe.  Ben had not felt anything badly wrong with Poe since the knight had departed from home, but since he didn’t have any experience with using the pendant, he wasn’t sure what something wrong _would_ feel like.

_How will I know?_ he asked himself, only half aware of his surroundings as his mother discussed with Mother Angelica the needs of an orphanage the convent ran.  _What if Poe is in danger, and I don’t realize it?  What if I think it’s just my own bad mood, but really it’s him needing me?_

But then the prince discovered that there was no mistaking the feeling of his connection with Poe.  Ben felt a shocking jolt of pain shoot through his head, emanating from the same spot where Poe had been injured, followed by a faint sense of nausea.  He gasped and gripped the carved wooden arms of his throne to brace himself as he stared down at the floor and tried to calm his breathing.  All three of the nuns looked at him, the stern one frowning, and his mother cast him a disapproving sideways glance.

Ben saw none of their reactions.  A few seconds later, he felt another, worse burst of pain, this one strong enough to make his eyes water.  It was mercifully brief, but when it faded, he was left with a different sensation.  This feeling was not physical, yet Ben hated it even more than the pain.  It was the unmistakable belief that Poe was not only hurting but also in danger, the belief that someone had Poe under their power and control.

“No,” Ben whispered, shaking his head.

“Ben!” Queen Organa snapped at the disruption.  Now the prince registered her disapproval, and he turned his head to glare at her.  However, Ben felt as if he only saw her through a haze, for most of his consciousness remained fixed on his feelings about Poe.  He got to his feet, shoving himself out of his throne with both hands, and stumbled from the room.  He heard his mother call after him angrily, but he didn’t stop until he reached the throne room’s antechamber, where he could be alone and try to collect himself.

_Poe needs me,_ was the only thing Ben could think at first.  _Something’s happened to him, he’s in danger—I have to go to him!_   The prince forced himself to swallow despite a painful, dry feeling in his throat, then started out for his tower room to pack some clothes for the journey he would have to undertake in order to reach Poe and rescue him from whatever it was that caused him such anguish.

After a little more than half an hour had passed and Ben had almost finished his packing, he heard the door to his own antechamber slam open.  In spite of his bravado, the prince cringed because he knew the ruckus could only have come from one person.  Sure enough, a second later his mother pounded on the inner door to his chamber and shouted, “Open this door _right now_ , Benjamin!”

Gritting his teeth, Ben stormed to the door and obeyed.  His furious mother stood there glowering up at him.

“I _thought_ you were getting better!” she snapped.  “I thought you were finally behaving like a grown man, like a future _king_ , and then you go and humiliate me in front of the Mother Superior—not some spoiled noblewoman but the kindest, most self-sacrificing woman in the kingdom!”  Queen Organa threw her hands in the air and groaned, “If Poe could have seen you, he would have been so ashamed—”

All of Ben’s restraint broke at the sound of his beloved’s name, and he screamed, “ _No!_   You don’t get to say that—something’s _happened_ to Poe, something’s wrong!”  The tears that kept threatening him finally fell, and the queen stared at Ben as he angrily smeared them from his face.

“How do you know?” she finally asked in a calm voice, although Ben could hear the tension within it.

“I gave him my amethyst,” Ben murmured, “before he left.”  Despite his efforts, his eyes filled up again, and the tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Oh,” Queen Organa breathed.  “And. . . you felt that something has happened to him, while we were in the throne room?”

“Yes.”  Ben turned away from her, rubbed his face on his sleeve, and went back to gathering his clothes.  “I’m going after him, to the frontlines.”

“Ben, no—”

“I’m.  _Going!_ ” Ben growled.  He spun on his heel to face his mother again, and the two glared at one another.

The queen finally said, “Ben, I’m sorry I lost my temper.  I didn’t understand what had happened, and I can make excuses to the Mother Superior for why you had to leave the room.  But I cannot let you go into a warzone and put yourself in danger!”

“Mother, I _have_ to!” he shouted back.  “Don’t you understand, Poe is _hurt_?  I _felt_ it, it’s his head—where he was wounded before, he’s hurt there again.  And it’s even worse than that, something else has happened to him.  Someone—I’m not certain, but I believe he’s been captured, or something similar.”

“Then he has our best knights _and_ my brother’s army to help him!” Queen Organa argued.  “What can you do for him that they can’t?”

“Maybe nothing, but I _don’t care!_ ” the prince roared.  He shoved a final shirt into the bag he was taking and scooped the bag up.  “I can’t stay here and leave him to suffer!  After you gave Father _your_ amethyst, would you have left him alone if you felt he needed you?  Back when you were young, back when you still loved him?”

Ben turned, intending to push past his petite mother to get to the door, then yelped in surprise when she slapped him hard across the face.

“Your selfishness may well be your downfall,” she hissed through clenched teeth, “before your stubbornness or even your temper has a chance to do you in.  I only pray, for your sake, that it doesn’t cost you Poe’s love—or worse, that you don’t drag Poe down with you and get the both of you killed.  Do what you will, go after him, because I know I can’t stop you.”

The queen turned away from Ben and left his room without looking back at him.  He wanted both to argue further with her and to apologize.  It was almost always like that: she’d take that sanctimonious attitude that made him rebel all the harder, while at the same time she played the role of the long-suffering mother that always made him feel like an ingrate.  Usually, the rebellious side of Ben won out, as it did now.  It had to, he thought, because that was the side Poe needed.

Ben had kept the letter he received from Poe in a drawer of his bedside table.  He took the letter out now and tucked it into his vest before leaving his chamber with his bag of clothing.  The prince went directly down to the stables, where he saddled up his horse as quickly as he could while still being thorough about it.  Ben half expected his father or Threepio or some other agent of his mother’s to enter the stable, accost him, and tell him what a fool he was being, but no one turned up to try convincing him not to go.  He almost felt a little insulted, like maybe no one really cared what happened to him after all, but by the time Ben had finished readying his horse, he had forgotten to be offended.  He was too worried about Poe.

Ben strapped his belongings behind the saddle, then mounted and galloped away from the castle, setting out in the direction of his uncle’s kingdom.  He knew he had a long ride ahead of him, with an uncertain destination ahead; he wasn’t sure where exactly the fighting was taking place.

_I’ll find that out when I reach Uncle Luke,_ Ben told himself.  _If only I could travel faster—if I could fly like a real raven, I’d fly straight to you, my robin.  Please hold on for me, I’ll come to you as quickly as I can._

\--

To be continued


	20. Chapter 20

When Poe regained consciousness, he awoke to a throbbing ache in his head.  Without opening his eyes, he felt for the pocket in his vest to find his vial of pain-killer, but it wasn’t there.  In fact, Poe’s vest wasn’t there either, and after realizing this, he began to remember what had happened, and just why his head hurt so badly.  He hauled his eyes open and saw that he was lying on his side on the ground within an unfamiliar tent.  Poe forced his head up off the ground, which made the ache within it worsen until he could hardly bear the pain, so he could look around.

Bartholomew knelt to Poe’s left, a couple feet away.  The boy was looking up with a fearful expression, and when Poe followed his gaze, he understood why.  Two knights stood there across the small tent, one on either side of the flaps that covered its entrance.  They looked so alike, they had to be not only brothers but twins—in fact, Poe realized through a dull haze of pain, they even reminded him of the twin physician’s assistants back home, Semele and Agave.  The men’s hazel eyes and white-blond hair, worn long in thin braids that trailed over their shoulders and down their backs, were the same color as that of the girls; likewise, the knights were tall but of a slender build with delicate, almost feminine features.  They were handsome, yet they had a coldness in their eyes and in the set of their mouths that explained Bartholomew’s fear.

Poe was so absorbed by the strange twins that he didn’t even notice Lady Phasma’s presence until one of the knights spoke to her.

“Is this the man you wanted?” he asked in a hissing voice that didn’t seem to fit with his attractive appearance.  Poe dropped his head back to the ground in pain but managed to shift it enough to see the target of his question.  It was the woman Rey had spotted from the hill what felt like weeks ago, and Poe realized she was indeed the female commander.  She was tall—she had to be far taller than Poe himself and was probably even taller than Ben—and fair with wide-set blue eyes and hair that, while blond, was darker than that of the two male knights who stood nearby.  She wore it cut short, almost as short as Poe himself, and had swept it back messily from her face.  She was not dressed in her armor at the moment, only a linen shirt and pants, but Poe was too distressed to feel any embarrassment over it.  Anyhow, Phasma seemed to feel none, either, as if she were no different from a male knight.

“Yes, this proves it,” she answered the twin who had spoken.  Phasma held up a somewhat crumpled paper and announced, “This man is Poe Dameron—Prince Solo’s lover.”

Poe did feel embarrassment at _that_ , and his face burned even as his head throbbed.  He realized that Phasma must be holding Ben’s letter to him, which Poe had carried on his person since the letter had arrived.

 _How did she know to send them after me?_ he thought.  _Someone must have informed her, told them about me before. . . but why, why does it matter that. . . that Ben. . . ._

His head ached too badly for him to finish the half-formed thought, but he didn’t need to.  Phasma stalked over to where Bartholomew knelt and grasped the boy by his elbows to lift him to his feet.  She was not needlessly rough, but he cried out from fear regardless.

“Oh, be quiet.  You aren’t hurt,” Phasma grumbled.  She stood the page up, then took a step back and looked him over before declaring, “Queen Organa certainly lets her commanders go soft on their pages.  Lord Hux would never allow a boy under his command to grow so fat.”  Once he saw that she really hadn’t hurt him, Bartholomew had regained some courage, and he glared at her comment.

“I’m not fat!” he muttered with a glance down at his stomach, which was after all only slightly pudgy.

Ignoring him, Phasma declared, “Your and Dameron’s horses are unharmed and waiting outside, boy.  You’re to take them back to your army’s camp with a message for whoever’s in charge—I’m assuming the Princess Skywalker since Wedge Antilles has been injured.”

“H-how do you know that?” Bartholomew blurted out.  Poe groaned and tried to hiss the boy’s name in a warning not to give any more information away.  As it turned out, Poe was the one giving information away, for Phasma glanced down at him, and one corner of her rather attractive mouth turned up in a smirk.

“So you’re awake,” she commented.

At the same time, one of the platinum-haired knights scoffed to Bartholomew, “Who do you think injured the old man, child?”

The page retorted, “Sir Antilles isn’t old!” more passionately than he had defended his own appearance.  Poe looked from Phasma back to the twin knights as his chest began to knot with anxiety.  How could either of them be what injured Sir Antilles when they both were human, albeit odd-looking, and  perfectly visible?

 _For that matter, how can they be what captured Bartholomew and me?_ Poe wondered.  _I **know** something supernatural had us, something I couldn’t see!  Unless. . . unless they’re magi, and they cast a spell on themselves. . . ._   His mind was too fuzzy with pain to try to understand it just then, and anyhow, what Phasma was now telling Bartholomew was more important.

She ordered the page, “Tell the princess that Lord Hux is holding your commander Sir Dameron hostage, and he will keep Dameron alive for one month.  If his demands are not met by the end of that time, Dameron will die.”

Poor Bartholomew turned pale and tried to keep his lower lip from trembling as he asked, “Wh-what demands?”  As for “Dameron” himself, Poe felt like he was dying already, and he wondered grimly if he could even survive a month imprisoned under Lord Hux, without a doctor’s care.  When he reached up gingerly to touch his head, he could feel fresh, sticky blood drying in his hair, and the fact that his captors hadn’t bothered to bind his hands or feet worried Poe even more.  It meant they knew he was incapable of attempting to escape.

“This declaration from Lord Hux explains it all,” Phasma answered Bartholomew as she took a rolled, sealed paper from a bag resting on the ground and leaned down to shove it into the page’s vest.  The boy squirmed at her touch and looked down at the document.

“But I can’t read,” he mumbled, flushing.

Phasma rolled her eyes and growled, “It isn’t for _you_ , impertinent little brat!”

“Do _I_ get to know the terms of my survival?” Poe asked in as much of a snarl as he could muster.  Besides his morbid curiosity, he resented the way Phasma spoke to his page and wanted to distract her attention from the boy.

The lady knight glanced down at Poe and replied, “In short, Lord Hux is offering a trade.  He will set you free if Prince Solo will come to his base camp and take your place.”

“What?!” Poe cried before he could even consider trying to hide his emotional reaction.  The idea was so brash, so cruel—and so likely to _work_.  Poe could just imagine Ben storming into Lord Hux’s camp in a blaze of self-sacrificing fury, ready to give his own life for the sake of his little robin.  In Poe’s unsteady state due to his injury, the thought made him want to burst into tears, and it was all he could do not to start sobbing.  As it was, he had to turn his face to the ground and press it into the grass and leaves upon which the tent was pitched, just to hide his emotions.

“I-I won’t go!” Bartholomew abruptly cried, so bravely that Poe lifted his head again in surprise and admiration.  “You can’t use me to hurt Sir Dameron—or Prince Solo!”

Phasma sighed, put her hands on her hips, and asked him, “Would you rather die, then?  You weren’t even supposed to be captured, except you were there with Dameron and _someone_ got overly excited.”  She cast a glare over at the twin knights, then turned back to the boy.  “Since you’d be of no use to Lord Hux, I thought the chivalrous thing to do would be to let you go free.  However, I could just as easily send one of my own men with the message.”

“Go on and do it then!” charged Bartholomew with a defiant upward tilt of his chin.  “I won’t leave Sir Dameron!”

“Bartholomew, go,” Poe muttered.

“But—”

“ _Go!_ ”  Raising his voice made Poe’s head throb, and he dropped it back on the ground with a moan.  He finished in a mumble, “You’ll do no good to anyone if you stay with me, and Rey—the princess will need your help.”  Of course, Poe’s true concern was for the boy’s safety, but he knew that if he said _that_ , Bartholomew would realize that Poe really did believe he was in danger. . . and in that case, Bartholomew would only argue more stubbornly to stay at Poe’s side.

“Well?” Phasma prompted when the page still hesitated.

“A-all right, I’ll go,” he finally conceded.  “But—but what if your soldiers try to stop me out in the field?  Will they know you sent me?”

“Show them Lord Hux’s seal on the message I gave you,” Phasma instructed, “and they will let you pass.  Oh, and just so the princess knows that we really do have her dear Sir Dameron. . . you should wear this.”  She turned back to her bag and scooped something else out of it, then returned to Bartholomew and hung it around his neck.  Poe felt a sickness that had nothing to do with his injury when he recognized it as Ben’s silver chain and amethyst pendant.  Poe instinctively put his hand up to his neck, and sure enough, his throat was bare.

Phasma went on to Bartholomew, “That’s all then, boy, off with you.  Lord Hux is expecting us by nightfall, so we can’t stay here waiting on you any longer.”  Phasma grasped the boy’s shoulder and steered him toward the opening in the tent.  The two identical knights stepped apart to give Bartholomew space to pass between them, but he stalled and looked back at Poe.

“Sir Dameron—”

“Go on, Bartholomew,” Poe said as gently as he could.  “Go to Princess Skywalker as quickly as you can, and don’t worry.”  The page nodded, his dark eyes beginning to glisten with tears; then Phasma gave him a shove, and he stumbled out of the tent.

“Take him to the horses and see that he gets on his way safely,” Phasma ordered one of the two knights.  He nodded silently and followed Bartholomew.

“This scheme of your Lord Hux’s is ridiculous,” growled Poe to Phasma as soon as the boy was gone.  “He really believes the prince will sacrifice himself for the sake of myself, a mere knight?”

Phasma sighed as if Poe were trying her nerves, then replied, “First of all, I said nothing about sacrificing the prince—or you, unless he does not come within the month.  A dead Prince Solo is of no more use to the lord than that page would be.  And second. . . .”

She dropped to her knees in front of where Poe lay on his side.  Phasma held up Ben’s folded letter to Poe between two fingers, then shook it open.

“You expect me to believe that he will not come after you, when he writes to you such things as this?”  She cleared her throat and read in a clear, emotionless voice, “‘I can hardly stand to be awake without you here because every thought is of you and how much I miss you. . . .  Fly back to me soon, little robin.’”

Poe felt himself blush in humiliation as Phasma dropped the hand holding the letter into her lap.  She did not seem to be mocking him, for she was not smiling and only looked vaguely bewildered, but the remaining knight smirked as if quite amused.

“‘Little robin,’ really?” Phasma asked Poe.  “If a man dared to call _me_ such a thing, I’d have his head.”

“You probably would at that,” Poe muttered.  The other knight snickered outright, and Phasma shot him a glare that ended his laughter, if not his smile.  His twin returned at that moment, but Poe’s attention was drawn back to Phasma when she continued speaking.

“Even so, I am a woman—and here is a man, a _prince_ , writing such things to another man. . . a knight.”  She shook her head slowly.  “Dameron— _Sir_ Dameron, I know your reputation.  I know of your bravery and your loyalty to your queen, and I know there is nothing unmanly about you.  So how. . . how does _this_ happen?”

When Phasma tapped the letter with her thumb, Poe only looked up at her with all the belligerence he could muster and muttered, “He will not come.”

Phasma observed, “Either you are lying about what you believe, or you have very little faith in the man who clearly loves you, as little as I understand it.”  She got to her feet and folded the letter back up, then tucked it into her bag before turning to the twin knights.

“We’re already late setting out,” she told them, “and one of you will have to carry _him_ —you injured him so badly, he can’t ride alone.”

“We did not strike him hard enough to do _that_ ,” one of the knights protested.

The other echoed, “No, we did not.”

Phasma waved off their objections and picked up her bag.  “Never mind how hard you think you struck him, just make sure you don’t hurt him any worse.  The lord will be displeased enough with his condition as it is.”  She slung the bag over one shoulder and stalked to the tent’s opening.  “Come, we can’t waste any more time.”

The two knights went over to Poe, where one crouched down and the other scooped the injured man up and hefted him onto his twin’s shoulders.  Although they did not jostle Poe unnecessarily, their movements were enough to set off a fresh wave of agony in his head, and he groaned before he could silence himself by biting down on his tongue.

Phasma did not hear Poe’s moan of pain as she stepped out of the tent, nor did she see the glance of apprehension the twins exchanged before they followed.

\--

to be continued


	21. Chapter 21

Ben traveled directly to his uncle’s kingdom without stopping, except for when his horse absolutely had to rest and graze.  Ben himself did not eat or sleep, only dozed for a few minutes at a time while resting the horse.  When he did nod off, half-lucid nightmares of Poe suffering made him start awake again.

A couple hours’ ride from King Skywalker’s castle, the prince intercepted a messenger headed for Queen Organa’s kingdom with two letters—both from Poe.  One letter was intended for the queen and one for Ben, but he took them both and snarled at the messenger until the poor young man cowered and started back for the Skywalker castle on horseback at a brisk trot.  Ben broke the seal on his letter with trembling hands and read it so quickly, he hardly comprehended any of it, except that Poe seemed to be safe and unharmed.

Then he ripped off the seal on the letter addressed to the queen—unlike his cousin, the prince had no compunction about reading his parent’s correspondence, at least when Poe’s welfare was concerned—and scanned it as well.  Ben would not have been surprised to find that Poe had gotten himself injured and informed Queen Organa but not the prince, just to keep Ben from worrying. . . but Poe informed her about nothing of the sort.  His letter to the queen concerned only a wound sustained by Sir Antilles.

Ben frowned, folded up the letter to his mother, and tucked it away in his vest; then he reread his own letter more carefully.  According to it, Sir Antilles had been gravely injured in the leg without ever laying eyes upon his attacker, while Poe himself remained unharmed.  _Or he was unharmed when he wrote this_ , Ben reminded himself.  _But it must have taken some time for this letter to reach Luke’s castle, and I don’t know how long Luke had it before sending the messenger out with it this morning._

The prince scowled in thought as he reread Poe’s description of the bizarre attack on Sir Antilles: _Rey told me this morning about rumors heard of supernatural soldiers under Lady Phasma’s command. . . .  How else could a man like him be struck unawares, if not by something supernatural or magical?_   So something invisible had wounded Sir Antilles—a magic user, a spirit, or even an ordinary soldier upon whom a spell had been cast.  Then later, something else must have happened to Poe, and that was when Ben had felt his pain and distress thanks to the talisman he had given his beloved.

 _What if the same thing that hurt Sir Antilles, hurt Poe?_ Ben wondered.  He clenched his fingers over the edges of the letter in sudden panic.  _And what if it has injured him as badly as he believes Sir Antilles to be injured?  The reaction I felt from the amethyst was so **strong**. . . ._   Ben closed his eyes and tried to reach out to Poe with his mind again, in order to judge if the knight were still suffering as badly as before—yet now, Ben could feel nothing from him.  Nothing at all.

“Poe!” Ben hissed as his eyes flew open again.  He was certain Poe could not have died of his injuries while wearing the amethyst, because Ben would have felt that.  Instead, the fact that Ben could sense absolutely nothing from his beloved told him that the pendant had been removed from Poe’s neck.

 _Did **he** take it off?_ Ben wondered.  His eyes dropped to the end of Poe’s letter, where he’d written, _I carry your letter and wear your amethyst next to my heart, but they can’t compare to the touch of your hand or the feeling of your hair or your scent.  I love you, Ben, I love you so much that sometimes I think I’ll go mad without you._   No, Ben decided, Poe would not have willingly removed the pendant the prince gave him.

Ben pondered, _Perhaps if he knew about the connection the amethyst forges between us, Poe might have taken it off when he got hurt, to keep me from worrying about him.  Yet how **would** he know?  And there’s no other reason he would remove it, so that means someone else removed it **from** him. . . ._

Poe wouldn’t have willingly given up his pendant, and only an enemy would have taken it from him.  That thought sent a chill of fear through Ben, followed by a rush of frantic anger.  The prince fumbled to fold up Poe’s letter and stow it safely in his vest; then he mounted his horse again and urged it into a gallop along the road leading to his uncle’s castle.

\--

Poe wasn’t aware of much of his journey to Lord Hux’s base camp; even when he did not lose consciousness completely, the ache in his head kept him mired in a sense of unreality.  He didn’t even realize that he and his captors had reached their destination until he felt the jolt of his body being dropped on a packed-dirt floor covered in straw.

After he hauled one eye open and peered around him for a solid minute, Poe decided that it wasn’t a dream or hallucination.  He really was in what must have been the enemy’s base camp: an abandoned farmhouse made over to become a military stronghold, as best as Poe could tell from what little he could see and comprehend.  Besides the weird twins and Lady Phasma, there were two guards stationed at the door, and small stockpiles of weapons in the corners, and. . . and that was as much as Poe could stand to look at before he closed his eye again and tried to distance himself from the agony beating into the back of his skull.

He couldn’t have said how much time passed before he heard a new, male voice speak.  It might have been only a moment, or it might have been an hour.

“So this is Solo’s whore?”

Poe heard Lady Phasma reply briskly, “Yes, my lord.”  He opened his eye once more to look at the man who had insulted him, since it had to be Lord Hux.  He was young, tall, very pale and very thin, with flaming red hair swept back from his brow.  From where he stood over Poe, he looked down on the prone knight with green eyes filled with every bit as much disdain as his voice and words had implied.

Poe felt distantly offended and shamed both, but he hurt too much to care greatly what some bastard lordling thought of him.  He let his eye fall shut, until Hux drew back his foot and kicked Poe in the jaw, not hard enough to break it but with sufficient force to knock Poe’s head from one side to the other.  Poe’s wound ground against the dirt and straw, and he howled with pain.

“Lord Hux!” Phasma yelped, although she managed to get control of her voice before she continued, “Be careful, he is badly wounded.”

“And his wounds somehow permit _you_ to give _me_ orders?  I’ll do what I please with him,” Hux snapped back at her.  To illustrate, he gave Poe another sound kick, this time in his side.  It might have hurt if Poe’s aching head hadn’t been overwhelming all of his other faculties.  Nevertheless, Poe was still alert enough to comprehend Phasma’s frustrated reply to her commander.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she muttered, “but if Dameron were to die, Lord Snoke. . . he would be displeased with us all.”

“‘ _Displeased_ ,’” Poe heard someone else scoff _sotto voce_.  He thought it must be one of the twin knights, and he also believed he could hear real fear beneath the sarcasm.  However, Poe tried to focus his thoughts on Phasma’s words instead.

_Lord. . . Snoke?  Who is that?  I’ve never heard that name before.  Is it he, not Hux, that’s using me to get to Ben?_

As Poe struggled to comprehend the turn of events, Hux was growling at Phasma, “If you are so concerned, you should have taken more care to bring the slut back in better condition.  Why did you let those two ghouls crack his head open anyway?  You never could control them—”

“ _We_ did not do that,” the third person interrupted.  Now Poe was certain he was one of the twins, and in spite of his pain, Poe forced his eyes open to look over at the strange knight.  The twins were standing close together, staring at Hux with their intent golden eyes.

“No, we did not do that,” one said.  “He was already wounded when we struck him.”

“Only as hard as Lady Phasma ordered us to.  We injured him further as a result.”

“But we did not disobey her.  Lord Snoke told us to listen to her.”

“To _her_ ,” the first twin repeated with a smirk at Hux.  “ _Not_ to you.”

Hux’s face darkened, but before he replied, another figure entered the room through a doorway in the back.  This person was swathed in a dark cloak, but from how Lady Phasma immediately dropped to one knee and bowed her head, Poe guessed that it must be the mysterious Lord Snoke.  Hux’s back was to the doorway at first; then when he saw Phasma’s reaction in his peripheral vision, he regulated his expression and turned to kneel as well.  The guards at the outer door had already knelt too, yet surprisingly, the twin knights did not.  Nevertheless, they drew back from Snoke as far as they could until their backs pressed against one of the farmhouse’s stone walls.

Snoke came forward to stand close to where Poe lay and Hux knelt.  He ignored Phasma completely despite the twins’ implication that he showed her preferential treatment to Hux.  She got to her feet after he passed her and waited quietly while Snoke pushed his cloak’s hood back from his face and leaned down slightly to study Poe.  Poe did his best to glare back, although the pain in his head made the glare come out as more of a squint.

Lord Snoke seemed to be an older man, but it was hard to be certain of his true age because of the scars that covered most of his face.  From what Poe could see of his head beneath the hood, Snoke appeared to be bald, though whether due to old age or more scarring, Poe could not tell.  The only conclusion Poe could draw about the man was that he had been badly injured at some point, long enough ago for the wounds to have healed and scarred like that.

“Did the Palikoi cause the injury to his head?” Snoke asked after a moment of examining Poe in silence.  He apparently meant the question for Hux, because he straightened up and looked over at the kneeling red-headed man when he received no answer.

Hux scrambled to his feet and muttered in response, “They claim they did not, my lord.  They say he was already wounded.”

Now Snoke turned to look over his shoulder as he finally addressed Phasma for the first time: “Is that true?”

“My lord, it is what they told me when I scolded them for being so rough with him,” Phasma replied, then added, “Although the fresh blood you see there began flowing after Lord Hux kicked him in the face a few moments ago.”  Hux shot her a poisonous look behind Snoke’s back, but Phasma met his gaze without any emotion at all in her own blue eyes.

Snoke sighed, “Hux, you do understand the importance of keeping the hostage alive, do you not?”

As Hux muttered, “Yes, my lord,” Poe decided to use the opportunity to assert himself.

“It won’t matter,” he growled up at the cloaked man towering over him.  “Prince Solo isn’t stupid enough to fall for such a trick!  He won’t come— _ungh!_ ”  Poe broke off in a grunt of pain when Snoke kicked him in the side, far harder than Hux had done.

“If you must silence him,” Snoke explained to Hux, “do so in a way that won’t endanger his life.  Now, you two—come here.”  When the haze of pain cleared enough for Poe to understand, he realized Snoke was talking to the twin knights, and that they must be whom Snoke had meant by “the Palikoi.”  The twins were not obeying Snoke’s order, though; they still hung back beside the wall.

Once he saw that the Palikoi did not intend to come any closer, Snoke’s already wrinkled brow furrowed more deeply, and he lifted an arm so shrouded in the sleeve of his cloak, Poe could see only his fingertips at the end.  Then Poe gasped when he thought he saw glowing rays of bluish tinted light emerge from those fingers and extend toward the twin knights.

 _I’m hallucinating,_ Poe told himself.  _I’m going mad with illness from my injury. . . ._

Even so, he stared in fascination as the light rays plunged into the breasts of the Palikoi, whose faces were showing fear for the first time since Poe had seen them.  When the rays pierced them, despite the armor they wore, their fearful expressions shifted to grimaces of pain.  Then a second later, the twins changed, and Poe was certain that he really was hallucinating.

The Palikoi no longer looked human; instead, they truly did look like the ghouls Hux had referred to them as.  Poe could see partially through them, as he had always heard one could see through ghosts.  What did remain of their bodies appeared as golden outlines etched in the air, golden eyes and teeth and wild tendrils of what had been their braids.  These now floated in the air about their heads like snakes rampant around the heads of Gorgons.

Somehow, Snoke used the light from his hand to draw the monstrous twins toward him, as if the rays were solid things embedded into their ghostly bodies.  The Palikoi howled and struggled, but they ultimately went still and silent as the cloaked man pulled them in to within a yard of him without seeming to exert much effort.

Poe cringed back from the twins even though they now ignored him completely.  At this point, he had trouble convincing himself that he was losing his sanity or seeing visions.  As surreal as the scene before him appeared, it had begun to make sense if Poe accepted one thing: _Snoke must be a mage, and the Palikoi really are ghosts, or some similar magical beings under his control._

As he held the two creatures captive before him, Snoke asked them, “Did you tell Lord Hux and Lady Phasma the truth?  Was this man already injured before you attacked him?”

“ _Yes!_ ” one of the twins whined.  He squirmed and clawed at the light piercing his insubstantial chest.  “We _knew_ he had to be taken alive.”

“That was the whole _point_ ,” the other Palikoi interjected.  “But we did not see the injury until we were already on him.”

“No, we did not.  It was too late.”

“Too late— _augh!_ ”  A crackle of light and sound akin to lightning shot down the beams holding the two, and they both screamed with pain, falling into resentful silence after.

Snoke declared, “I have heard enough.”  He flexed his fingers upward, and the magical light emanating from them went out.  Both Palikoi instantly took human forms again and at the same time collapsed to their knees, one slumped against the other.

Turning back to Phasma, Snoke said, “Go fetch the doctor.  I want him to examine Dameron’s head wound to be sure he will survive long enough for Prince Solo to reach us.  I doubt it will take more than a week, but we need him capable of surviving a month to be sure.  Also find a slave you can trust to put in charge of feeding and washing him.  He is to have enough food and water each day to keep him alive, and to be kept clean enough that Solo finds him worth rescuing when he gets here.”

“Yes, my lord,” Phasma replied.  She bowed to Snoke then departed through the outer door.  The cowering Palikoi watched her go, but she passed them without a glance.  When Phasma had gone, Snoke took a step closer to Poe and prodded the knight’s side with one foot.  Poe cringed although Snoke did not kick him again.

“Hux, this is the result of how Ben Solo’s mother raised him, indulging him in everything _except_ his birthright of his magical powers,” Snoke said in an almost mournful tone.  “He could have been almost as powerful as his grandfather by now, and instead he’s channeled his energy into unnatural desires for other men.  And by all accounts, this Dameron was once a fine knight, but he must be no more than a harlot now if he allowed himself to be captured so easily.”

Poe glared up at Snoke, although he didn’t dare risk speaking for fear of getting kicked again.  Hux scoffed, however.

“Hmph, fine knight or not, he must have always been a whore with a face like that, and the way he wears his hair in those curls,” muttered Hux.  “I’ll wager he seduced the prince and turned any natural desires he _did_ have away from women.”  Snoke dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand while Poe’s face burned in humiliation.

 _It wasn’t like that!_ Poe insisted to himself. _He never even knew how I felt about him until the masquerade!  I didn’t seduce him deliberately. . . did I?_   He fought past the ache in his head to remember the night of the last ball, when he had proclaimed his love for Ben—while straddling the prince’s lap and grinding against him until they both climaxed out on the castle balcony, where anyone might have walked out and seen them.  Suddenly Poe felt every bit the harlot and whore Snoke and Hux accused him of being.

Meanwhile, Snoke was saying to Hux, “Never mind exactly how it happened, for it shan’t matter anymore after Prince Solo joins us.”  He turned away from Poe and moved back toward the door leading into the rest of the farmhouse, still speaking as he went.  “Once we release Dameron, and Solo is free of that weakness and the influence of his family, I can begin to make up for all the time they’ve wasted.  He’ll realize soon enough that I can teach him how to use his powers correctly, and I believe he’ll quickly become the man he was meant to be.”

“You really are going to release Dameron?” Hux asked.  He sounded resentful.

“Yes.  If I did not, Prince Solo would be far more resistant to my efforts to instruct him,” replied Snoke.  He finally acknowledged the Palikoi again by glancing down at them and gesturing toward Poe.  “Keep watch over him.  Hux, remember—no more damage above his neck.”

As Lord Snoke turned away and swept from the room, the twins got back on their feet and moved to stand over Poe, one at his head and the other at his feet.  He turned painfully onto his side and drew his knees up close to his chest in an effort to protect himself, but neither of them made any move to touch him at all.

Hux, however, stalked closer and crouched directly in Poe’s line of sight.  He gripped a handful of Poe’s hair just above his brow and yanked the prone knight’s head back so that Poe was forced to meet Hux’s green eyes.  One of the Palikoi hissed in warning, but Hux paid him no attention.  Poe tensed, expecting to be struck in spite of Snoke’s orders, yet again nothing came of his apprehension.

Hux only sneered, “Filthy slut!” then let go of Poe’s hair and stood once more.  He scrubbed his palm over the leg of his breeches as if contact with Poe had soiled his hand.  Poe relaxed slightly, but then Hux took that opportunity to draw back his booted foot and kick Poe’s bent knees hard enough to drive them away from his torso.  Poe cried out at the jolt of pain despite his best efforts not to give Hux that satisfaction.

When Hux kicked Poe again, it was in the stomach, which was fully exposed now that Poe’s legs were no longer drawn up to protect it.  The force of the blow knocked Poe’s breath out of him, and he was unable to make any sound at all.  He heard both Palikoi hissing now, but the sound came as if from a great distance; Poe was far more concerned with trying to draw in his breath without vomiting from the pain at the same time.  Finally, he managed to heave a shaky breath, then to curl up again with his arms wrapped over his folded legs.

“If not for my lord’s command, I’d smash your pretty face in,” Hux spat down at Poe, “and after that, finish the work left undone by whoever split your skull open—and your useless prince would thank me for freeing him from your bewitchment once he finally came to his senses.  _You_ should be thanking God that Lord Snoke is more patient than I.”

He left the room so that only the ghostly twins and the two guards at the outer door remained with Poe.  Poe barely knew they were there.  The parts of his mind not overwhelmed with pain had fixated on Hux’s words, and on what Snoke had said before that: that Poe was a whore who had bewitched Ben, who had seduced him away from his destiny and diverted his magical powers into depraved lust. . . who had to die in order for Ben to be free.


	22. Chapter 22

Ben reached his uncle’s castle just after the messenger returned, so Luke was expecting his arrival.  As soon as Ben stalked into the king’s throne room, Luke dismissed his retainers and exploded with questions.

“What are you doing here?  Has something happened—is Leia all right?” he cried.  Then he studied his nephew’s haggard face and frowned.  “You look like hell.”

Ben snarled, “Never mind what I look like, and Mother’s fine.  Nothing’s happened at home, but haven’t you had any more news than this?”  He pulled out the crumpled letters Luke’s messenger had delivered and waved them in one hand.  “Something’s wrong, something’s happened to Poe since he wrote these letters!”

Luke stared at him.  “Poe. . . Dameron?”

“ _Yes_ , of course Poe Dameron!” groaned Ben.

“No, no more letters have come,” Luke told him.  “There’s no indication at all that Sir Dameron has been injured, only—only Sir Antilles.”  His voice faltered, but before Ben could comment on that, Luke continued testily, “Will you tell me just what is going on here?  What in the name of Heaven gave you the idea that something is wrong with Sir Dameron—and why have you come all this way alone to question me about it?”

“I just _know_ ,” Ben spat.  “In this letter, Poe wrote about what happened to Sir Antilles, that something unseen attacked him, and he said Rey had heard rumors about supernatural forces among the enemy’s army.  If they’ve made some kind of magical attack on Sir Antilles, they might have done the same to Poe.  If I don’t go to him, he could—he could _die_!”  Despite his best efforts, Ben’s voice broke, and he clenched his hands into fists at his sides with Poe’s letters still clutched in one.

Luke’s intent blue eyes bored into Ben a moment before he muttered, “Then go.  But someday when you become king, you won’t be able to up and leave your kingdom for the battlefield whenever you want.”  In spite of Ben’s reluctance to reveal his feelings for Poe, his exhaustion and anger overruled his ability to keep his mouth shut.

“You sound just like Mother,” Ben growled, “but I couldn’t expect either of you to understand.  It’s not that I just want to go to battle—it’s that Poe’s in danger, and he needs me.  I gave my amethyst to him, so I know it’s true.”

“You gave Sir Dameron your amethyst?” Luke murmured.  “I understand now.  Of course you want to go to him.  Go then—I won’t stop you.”

Ben felt startled by Luke’s acceptance of his feelings for Poe, but he had more urgent matters to discuss.

“But Uncle, I need you to come with me,” he insisted.  When Luke gave him a blank stare, Ben explained, “I’m afraid that Poe—he may be too sick for the physicians to help him, and you know that _I_ don’t have any healing abilities.  It might take your powers to save him.”

“Ben, I just finished telling you that as king, I can’t simply leave my people here and run off to battle!” Luke cried in frustration.

Ben lost what little temper he had left, and he shouted, “Poe could _die!_   You wouldn’t be running off to battle, you’d be saving his life—and then you could come straight back to your throne without ever fighting at all.”

Luke narrowed his eyes and drew up his mouth in the same expression Rey used when she was being stubborn about something.  It always drove Ben crazy when Rey made that face, but on Luke, it was downright infuriating.

“And what if something happens here while I’m gone?” the king challenged.  “For that matter, I’m sure something _will_ happen when word spreads that both I and the princess have abandoned the throne.”

Ben retorted, “Why would you even tell anyone?  Don’t you have an advisor you can trust to manage things for a few days?  He could say you’re ill if someone demands to see you, but otherwise, no one else has to know you’re gone!”

The stubbornness on Luke’s face faded a little, and he averted his eyes from Ben’s, yet he continued to hesitate.

“You’re asking me to deceive my entire kingdom, Ben, all for the sake of one man.  I know how dear he is to Leia and—and what he means to you.  But I can’t just—”

“ _You can’t just let him die!”_ roared Ben.  “If you won’t do it for Poe, what about Sir Antilles—Wedge?  If he’s injured as badly as these letters say, he could die too!  Don’t you even care about your own commander?”

Ben had already lost his temper, but he didn’t expect to see Luke lose his, too.  Yet Ben’s normally benevolent uncle shouted right back at him: “You know nothing of how I feel about Wedge—and how dare you use it to manipulate me and get your way!  Such behavior is beyond selfish, even for you, Ben.”

Those accusations hurt, but Ben managed to think through his own anger and realize that Luke wasn’t just attacking him for the sake of hurting him.  Luke was as worried about Antilles as Ben was about Poe.  The significance of that fact both flustered Ben and made him feel terrible for thinking Luke didn’t care about his loyal commander.

Ben stuttered, “I-I’m sorry.  I didn’t understand.”  When he saw Luke’s expression shift from anger to surprise and vague confusion over Ben’s apology, he continued, “But he _must_ need you right now.  I felt such pain and fear from Poe, until it all just stopped—I think something must have happened to his amethyst.  If Sir Antilles is feeling those same things right now, he needs you there with him, whether you have to heal him with your magic or not.”

Luke turned his head aside, and Ben saw his throat move as he swallowed hard to force back either emotion or another argument.  Ben had to bite his own lip to keep himself quiet and allow his uncle time to think.  Then, finally, Luke looked back at him.

“Wedge is at the base camp with Rey—and that is where Sir Dameron _should_ be.  I’ll go at least that far with you.  You can find out what’s happened to him, and I’ll. . . I’ll see to Wedge.”

Ben could hardly believe that his uncle had agreed to come with him, and he nodded weakly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.  “Truly. . . thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Luke grumbled.  “I’m not promising anything further, and I don’t even know that I can heal the kind of injury that’s been done to either of them, if Sir Dameron has been struck by the same creature that attacked Wedge.”  He stood up from his throne and started walking toward the room’s doorways; the much taller Ben followed closely, practically treading on his uncle’s heels.

“You mean you know what injured him?  And Poe?” Ben demanded.

Luke replied with frustrating vagueness, “I have some ideas, but I can’t say for sure until I speak to Rey and the others in the camp. . . and to Wedge, if he’s able to speak.”  The king’s voice grew softer when he spoke of Wedge, but he continued without pausing.  “I suppose your idea of keeping my departure a secret is best.  I do have a man I can trust to handle things in my place for a brief time.”

He stopped walking abruptly, so that Ben almost trod over him, and turned to look up at his nephew.  “I’ll be ready to depart within an hour’s time.  Will you be able to leave then, or do you need more time to rest?”

“I can leave as soon as you can,” insisted Ben.  He felt both tired and hungry, but he cared little for his own needs as long as Poe was in danger.  _The sooner we get to the camp, the sooner I can find out what’s happened to him,_ Ben thought.  _I can rest later._

Luke cast him a skeptical look, but he nodded all the same and didn’t try to argue.  Ben had inherited a great deal of his stubbornness from his uncle, after all.

\--

to be continued

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Downfall: Interlude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9686171) by Anonymous 




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